Terms
by Nell McKeon
Summary: Kid Curry makes a life-altering decision without consulting Heyes. Each man struggles to come to terms with the consequences. Will there be a permanent parting of the partnership?
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Notes:** _Many thanks to my beta reader and story consultants, you know who you are, without whom this story would never have been written. This was written several years ago, chapter one was the first piece of creative writing I ever did since High School decades ago in response to a story prompt challenge. It is posted on another site and I am in the process of transferring to this site ._

 **Terms**

 **By Nell McKeon**

 **Part One – Decision**

 _ **Early August 1883**_

Kid Curry slumped over his whisky in yet another shabby saloon, in yet another small town, in the middle of nowhere much.

A saloon gal wandered over to try her luck at getting a little business on a dreary midweek afternoon. One look at the hostility born of utter misery in those blue eyes, scowling out from under a rain-splattered brown brim changed her mind. This was a man who didn't want to talk. Not yet anyhow. Maybe not for a long time.

Kid tapped his glass to order a refill of the whiskey so far removed from being the 'good stuff' he reckoned they oughta pay him to drink it. He didn't care. He just wanted to get drunk and do it quick. He wanted to forget. Forget about what had happened. Forget about Heyes. Forget about their years together. Forget he'd ever had a partner. Forget he was alone. Alone forever. Heyes was the past. Gone. Done with.  
 _ **  
**_A WEEK EARLIER...

Two riders, slumped in their saddles, rode slowly down the street in the darkening gloom heading for the sheriff's office. The blond's eyes searched the familiar streets of Porterville for the unfamiliar and finding nothing returned to his brown-haired partner who rode slightly ahead of him. They reached their destination, noted the light from the window and reined in the horses. Without a word, the blond dismounted and came around to stand next to his companion's bay in a silent offer of assistance that went unheeded.

"Howdy Lom."

The sheriff jerked straight in his office chair and looked quickly around. "Heyes, didn't hear you come in. Glad you made it. I wasn't sure you'd come." He lowered his voice a bit. "I heard about the trouble over in Impasse Mountain. Where's the Kid?" Lom asked as he rose from his chair extending his right hand towards his ex-outlaw friend while throwing a surreptitious glance sideways.

Heyes walked slowly favoring his left side and shook Lom's hand. Lom noted the grip did not have Heyes' characteristic firmness as he sat back in his chair. Heyes moved over to the stove, shook the coffee pot, found the mugs and filled two; a slight grin formed as he caught Lom's glance at the side door.

"He'll be here in a minute Lom, he's taking care of the horses."

The front door opened and Kid quietly entered the sheriff's office. He gave a shake of his head as his tired blue eyes found Heyes who was holding a steaming mug up questioningly.

Heyes and Lom sat sipping coffee and caught up with each other's news. Kid, who hadn't said a readily identifiable word as of yet, stayed standing while he nodded and uh huhed at the appropriate intervals. His weary eyes traveled from the empty cells to the bulletin board where the wanted posters hung, minus two notable outlaws.

Lom and Heyes exchanged a knowing look as they each noticed the focus of Kid's attention.

"I guess we should get down to business," Lom stated and then continued, "The governor's not pleased, however, you boys are still in consideration for the amnesty. Impasse didn't help but the investigation justified your actions, Kid, so you can quit looking. There are no new warrants, murder or otherwise, out on you. The publicity wasn't good but a shootout involving Kid Curry and Hannibal Heyes is just too newsworthy for the papers to ignore."

Kid heaved a relieved sigh as Heyes shot him a sympathetic sad smile. "Lom," Heyes started, "Kid didn't have a choice; there were six of them. Two-Gun George has been after him for years. He and his gang didn't want the reward, wouldn't listen to reason, didn't even give us time to leave, Two-Gun just wanted the title. Well, it's not Kid's fault Two-Gun and Bill Stevers are not the fastest guns in the west, they're just the deadest two guns in the west. The other four guys are only wounded. The governor should give us a medal for getting them off the streets. That was a bloody gang Lom, you know that."

"Heyes, I know, I know," Lom interrupted. "The governor even knows but he can't come out and give amnesty to you two when Kid just shot and killed two men, no matter if they deserved it or not. I'm just glad it's not you boys that are stretched out on the boardwalk."

Lom's tanned face frowned in concern. "Did you have much trouble losing the posse out of Impasse? The papers stated you might have been shot, Heyes. And, looking at you now, it seems as if they were right."

"Just a little flesh wound to my side. I'll be fine" Heyes replied.

Kid whirled around from the bulletin board and practically shouted, "You're not fine Heyes. You're shot! You were shot watching my back. It was not just a little flesh wound."

Heyes rose, albeit somewhat stiffly from the chair and attempted to calm his partner. "I'll be fine, just need a little time to heal up. I've had a lot worse wounds and so have you."

Recognizing the futility and not having the will or the energy to engage Kid once again in the same argument they had times too numerous to count, Heyes changed the direction of the conversation. "Now what about those jobs you telegraphed us about Lom? Are they still open?"

Lom studied the ex-outlaws before him as he answered "Yes, but you'll have to split up since there isn't enough time to do both together. Now the first one's fairly easy but will take a little over two weeks to escort a valuable shipment on the train to Texas and back again, that'll be you I guess Heyes. Kid, a rancher friend needs short-term help with some horses he's moving, should only take a week or so. You'll both have to leave by tomorrow afternoon."

Heyes settled back in his chair and Kid finally sat down as the three men worked out the details.

Heyes' brown eyes slowly slid open, heavy with sleep. It was still dark. His eyes adjusted to the room only illuminated with the light of the full moon; he discovered the reason for awakening. Kid, fully dressed, was silently closing the door as he slipped from the hotel room.

Heyes sat up quickly, ignoring the twinge in his side and looked around the room. He relaxed somewhat when he spotted Curry's saddlebags and rifle, still in the corner where he had dropped them earlier.

"Kid, where are you going at this hour? You better not be planning anything stupid and you will tell me what's going on in that thick head of yours. Just wait. We can work it out when these jobs are over." With those thoughts running through his mind Heyes sank back down to doze until the Kid came back.

 ** _PRESENT_**

Kid dragged his eyes up from the battered table and the glass in his hand. Swirling the whiskey, no, not even regular whiskey, he wasn't even sure if it qualified as rotgut he thought, "Wasn't drunk enough yet, nope, not numb, can't stop thinking. Wasn't supposed to think, that's Heyes job. Dammit, no Heyes ever again just no thinking at all, ever again."

Staring hard beyond the batwing doors, watching the drizzle fall, he wondered how long he would have to wait. He lifted the glass, downed the contents in one swallow, grimaced and turned towards the bar. A steady hand tapped the glass once more but as blue eyes connected with the inviting hazel eyes of the saloon girl, Kid turned the glass over and rose from his seat. He consciously softened his gaze, dampening down the anger and misery that was threatening to overwhelm him. He had made his decision; he had the time.

This wasn't the first time he drowned his misery in alcohol or sought solace in the arms of a woman he didn't love and who didn't love him. It would be the last time though. Probably the last physical expression of at least pretend affection he would experience. Another thing he would have to forget forever, never think of again – the secret desire of being a husband with a wife, children, sharing his life along with Heyes as one big family.

The blue of his eyes deepened and took on a look of longing and sadness. Had the saloon girl been looking, her heart would have gone out to a man in emotional need. As it was, satisfying the physical need would suffice. Kid placed his money on the side table as the girl placed her hands on his shoulders, caressing her way around his chest appreciatively as she started to unbutton the blue shirt.

Settled back down in the drab saloon with yet another undrinkable whiskey in his hand Curry steeled himself. The tall dark-haired man he had been waiting for pushed his way through the wet saloon doors.

"Thanks for coming Lom. Is it all arranged? Did he agree to my terms, Lom?" Kid asked in greeting.

Lom shook his head at the bartender's silent question, took a seat, and faced Curry. With a heavy heart, Lom took two envelopes from his inside jacket pocket, laid them carefully on the table for Curry's inspection in lieu of a reply.

Curry picked up the envelope labeled Hannibal Heyes, withdrew the document within and carefully read it completely through. He opened the second envelope and counted the money: $10,000 dollars, it was all there.

Curry raised his anguished blue eyes to Lom's concerned brown ones and asked "And the rest?" Lom nodded affirmatively.

"I'm ready to go then; let's get it over with." The two men stood and walked resolutely out into the gray mist.

The two riders rode through a dense wood when the Kid suddenly reigned to a stop, dismounted and sprinted further into the trees.

Lom halted, waited a few minutes then set off on foot after his friend. "I'm not running Lom," Kid managed to say before he braced himself against a large oak and retched.

Lom stood silently by, worry creasing his brow.

Kid straightened, wiped his mouth with his left sleeve and continued. "I've always known I would die young, you know, dead in a dusty street or smoky saloon finally meeting up with the guy that is faster than me or going down in a hail of bullets ever since I joined the gang. Never thought I would see prison. Even when I was in jail, I always trusted Heyes to come up with a plan. He always did. Heyes and me, we talked about what we would do if it ever looked like we were actually going to prison.

Never agreed though. Heyes sees possibilities in every situation and for him there may have been, early release, cushy job in the warden's office, but not for me. For me it's going to be hard time. I always thought I wouldn't get that far, I would run, let them shoot me trying to escape. For me, it would be better that way."

Lom reached out and laid a hand on Kid's shoulder lending support, letting him talk.

"But I know that's not going to happen. The governor is going to get to say the gunslinger is paying for his crimes, satisfy the banks and railroads. I'm going to walk through the door at the Wyoming Territorial Prison and serve my time. Die there."

"I'm scared Lom. I don't know how I am going to do it but I will. Heyes deserves those amnesty papers in your pocket. Joshua Smith needs that $10,000 dollar bounty money for a stake. Heyes will show the world what he can do given half a chance. He can be the man our folks would have been proud of. People aren't afraid of him, they'll give him a second chance, respect him. I want him to have that chance. He won't with me around, he might not live to see amnesty if the governor ever gets around to giving it to us."

Outlaw and lawman turned in unison and walked together back to the horses with Lom urgently stating, "Kid, it's not too late to change your mind. I can return the envelopes to Cheyenne, no one the wiser. The amnesty may take a little longer but Heyes is not going to want the amnesty without you, you know that, and he's liable to flatten me when he finds out I knew about, never mind helped, with this. Besides…"

Kid vehemently interrupted, "No! I need to do this for him. It has to be done now when Heyes is too far away to do anything about it. We're following the Kid Curry plan."

Standing alongside his gelding Kid untied the thong from his right thigh, unbuckled his gun belt and carefully rolled the leather around the holster and Colt 45. Weighed it in his hand, fingers caressing the butt, and with a heavy sigh opened the saddlebag and placed the rolled-up belt within.

Kid slid his hat from his blond curls and wrapped the strings around his saddle horn. Still facing his horse, stroking the dark chestnut's neck gently and with a voice low and subdued he continued, "If Heyes doesn't want the gun you can have it Lom. It's a good gun. Either one of you could probably get good money for it, maybe even from a collector. Me being an infamous gunslinger and all." He turned and offered a small half-hearted smile.

"Kid…," Lom started but Kid didn't let him continue, didn't want to be dissuaded from his chosen course. He couldn't, no wouldn't, think about the past. Wouldn't think about the future either.

"There's a letter for Heyes in the saddlebag, things that need saying. I don't expect him to understand right away but after he has time to think, he will see what I've done is for the best, is the right thing to do. Be there for him Lom, help him see the truth as it is and not what we want it to be. I will never be completely free from the past. I don't have a future with or without amnesty. I will always be Kid Curry, Fastest Gun in the West until I'm no more and I'm not taking him down with me."

Curry abruptly stopped, cocked his head and listened. They heard the sounds of hoof beats in the distance. Curry's hand dropped quickly to his right thigh and found air. Lom stepped around the Kid and peered out from between the trees. Five men, one leading a saddled horse, tin stars catching the first rays of a setting sun piercing the late afternoon gray sky, rode to the agreed upon meeting place.

The marshals were here.


	2. Chapter 2

**Part Two – Alone**

 **Chapter Two**

 _ **Early August 1883**_

Kid Curry stood stoically in the near empty Cheyenne courtroom as the prison guards shackled his wrists and ankles. One guard ran a stout chain tightly around his waist attaching the wrist shackles and then down between his legs to attach the leg irons. He was mildly impressed at the number of guards covering him with assorted firearms and wondered what they thought he could do trussed up like he was.

The senior guard and the marshal completed the paperwork transferring custody of Jedediah Curry to the Wyoming Territorial Prison authorities at the nearby table for the prosecution. The guards stationed themselves around the Kid and the group moved to the courtroom door and down the broad steps to the waiting black enclosed prison wagon. Curry ignored the curious stares and whisperings from the quickly gathering crowd of onlookers as he concentrated on not falling down the stairs.

Someone pushed Curry's head down as he was helped into the back of the stifling hot wagon and seated on the hard plank bench along the side. Kid was surprised to see two men, also shackled but not chained across from him on the opposite bench. The three men turned their heads to the iron barred door as it clanged shut. Someone unintentionally uttered a loud sigh.

"Have a nice trip," the guard chuckled as he fastened the lock and affixed a horizontal iron bar across the back. The men inside quietly shared a look of despair when the wagon started to slowly move down the road to Laramie.

Kid laid his head back against the side of the wagon as overwhelming fatigue hit him like a freight train. He couldn't remember the last time he slept more than an hour or two at a time much less had a good night's sleep. He appreciated the fact that the law had complied with his request to arrive in Cheyenne in the middle of the night to avoid the crowd the arrest of Kid Curry was bound to gather but it also meant he had been awake for over forty-eight hours straight.

Curry waived his right to a trial by jury as the terms of Heyes' amnesty dictated his guilty plea to all charges and a maximum sentence allowable by law. The closed courtroom appearance in the early morning hours suited Curry and the judge, who both wanted the formal proceedings and sentencing to occur with maximum speed and minimum public attendance. The Kid knew the governor was planning to make the public announcement of his and Heyes' fates once Kid was securely behind the prison walls.

The obligatory exchange of names, convicted crimes and sentences was over. Each man retreated to his own silent thoughts. Kid regarded his fellow convicts through half-closed lids. He was sharing the long bumpy ride to purgatory, or was it hell, with Henry Miller, nineteen, who tried to rob a mercantile. Miller was caught on his very first robbery attempt and was now spending a year as a guest of the Wyoming government. The other man, Bruce Tedmen, who said he was forty-five but looked older was a rustler sentenced to five years. Both men seemed awed by Kid Curry's reputation and Miller had actually stuttered how honored he was to be serving time with the famous gunslinger, train and bank robber. Curry wondered what honor there was in being an imprisoned thief destined to spend the rest of his life behind bars.

Kid was startled when the judge pronounced the term as life imprisonment as he just assumed that he would get twenty years. It hit him suddenly that twenty years or life made no difference at all in the final analysis. He didn't think he would last even a few years confined. With that somber thought, Curry's eyes finally slid shut and a restless sleep closed in upon him.

The three men in the back of the wagon dozed uncomfortably on and off throughout the interminable ride to their destination. Conversation was minimal. They all wished to exit the cramped, hot, uncomfortable wagon, yearned to stretch their limbs and breathe fresh air, but knew the reprieve would be short-lived. The new convicts felt a mixture of dread and relief at the sight of the imposing stark brick building, tall surrounding stockade with the evenly spaced guard towers in a bleak landscape.

Jedediah Curry shuffled toward the arched heavy door of the Wyoming Territorial Prison just a few feet away and an uncontrollable sense of panic gripped him. He came to a hard stop and the sharp prod of a guard's rifle in his lower back failed to get him moving again.

"Get moving Curry, you're not going to get a special invite. So, move it, now," growled the guard behind him.

He shoved the Kid forward, hard. Kid stumbled, regained his balance before he fell and started moving again. Thoughts of Heyes receiving the amnesty papers flashed in his mind and that was enough to enable him to cross the threshold with his dignity intact.

The newly arrived inmates were ushered into a reception area off the main foyer and up to a desk. More paperwork was completed, questions and answers recorded.

"Name?"

"Jedediah Curry."

"Your designation is now L1314, so you don't forget, L because you're serving a life term, 1 for the North wing, it would be 2 if you were in the newer South, but you're not, 3 is for the third tier of cells and 14 is your cell number, so L1314."

"L1314."

"The correct response is L1314, Sir."

"L1314. Sir."

"Address?"

"None. Sir."

"Next of kin for notification purposes?"

"Hannibal Heyes. Sir."

The guard glanced up from his papers and gave Kid a hard-probing stare. "Is this your idea of a joke, L1314?"

"No."

"No, what?"

"No. Sir."

"Address? Maybe we'll send him a personal invitation to join you."

"Care of Lom Trevors, Sheriff, Porterville, Wyoming. Sir."

The guard stared at him again before he finished his questions. "Can you read and write?"

"Yes. Sir."

"Here is a copy of the rules and regulations of the prison. You will be expected to follow them without exception. Read them thoroughly and sign the bottom. They will be reviewed with you shortly. This sheet is a list of some of the work presently done here at the prison. Circle any that you have any experience doing. Hand the sheets back to me when you're done. Be quick about it."

A guard unlocked each man's wrists while the others kept their weapons at the ready. The guard repeated the questions with Tedmen, and then with Miller.

Kid read the long list of rules and signed the bottom. He was expecting harsh and strict rules but was unprepared for the extreme severity regarding talking, or rather not talking. The thought that Heyes would go crazy not being able to converse came unbidden to his mind and he suppressed the thought quickly.

The list of jobs contained few that he had done even with the variety Heyes and he had found themselves doing while pursuing amnesty. There were no saloon managers, drovers, bank guards, prospectors, deputies or finders of stolen property on the list. Instead, the list contained things like cigar maker, broom factory worker, furniture maker, tailor, shoemaker, ice cutter, cook, laundry worker and farmer. Did living on a farm until you were nine count as farmer Kid wondered as he circled the word.

Curry handed the papers back to the guard and received a frame with his prison numbers slotted into it. He was told to stand on the line against the wall with a large vertical ruler painted on it.

A guard from behind a camera barked orders. "Face the camera, stand straight, and hold your number across your chest." The camera snapped and flashed.

"Turn to the right. Hold your number by your shoulder." After a pause the camera snapped and flashed again.

"Turn to the left. Hold your number by your shoulder." Another pause then the guard took the third picture.

Kid wished these pictures were safely locked up in a safe deposit box in Denver although he supposed it didn't really matter; it wasn't as if he was on the run anymore.

The guards then moved the convicts into an adjoining room, which appeared to be a store/supply room of sorts. Posted in big black letters on two large boards, mounted on the wall were the rules for convicts. The guards removed the remaining restraints from the men's legs and told them to strip and to leave their clothes in a box along the wall. Each box was labeled with each man's name and prison number. They were marched down the short hall into a stone-floored cool shower room.

Two old barber chairs were along the far wall. Two guards directed Miller and Tedmen to sit in the chairs. They strapped the men's limbs to the arms of the chair with the attached leather restraints.

A middle aged solidly built guard strode to the center of the room. "I am captain of the prison guards, Captain Munch. So there is no question about the rules you will live under, I am going to review them aloud now…"

He continued "You will have a till Sunday, that is a four-day probationary period in which further instruction may be allowed without severe penalty."

"Hygiene is important. In addition to your daily hygiene regulations the North wing showers on the first and third Sundays. The South wing showers on the second and fourth Sundays. Your head will be shaved once every six weeks according to cellblock. Facial shaving privileges are granted by the warden for extenuating circumstances."

"Following the rules will earn you ticket privileges. You will start out with two. The tickets are kept hanging on a rack outside your cell." The guard took painted thin wooden rectangles roughly the size of playing cards out of his pocket and held them up for prisoners to see.

"These privileges can be revoked at any time for any infraction of the rules at a guard's discretion. Pay attention. The red ticket is for one visit on the fourth Sunday of the month. The blue ticket is to write one letter on the first Sunday of the month and receive letters on the third Sunday of the month."

Kid stood and watched as the guards first hacked off Miller's and Tedmen's hair as close to the head as possible, applied lather and proceeded to shave the prisoner's heads bald. When it was Kid's turn in the chair, he watched his blond curls fall around him with a disturbing sense of loss. The baldness bothered him even more than the humiliation of being naked.

"Line up along the far wall and stand facing the wall," barked out Munch. One of the younger guards passed around small bars of strong soap.

A shower blast of icy water stung their skin as Curry, Miller and Tedmen or rather L1314, 11107 and 51109 soaped their reddening skin.

The three new inmates stood on the cold stone floor, damp, covered in goose bumps holding their issued black and white striped clothing in front of them. The heavy wooden door opened and in walked a short, well-dressed thin man.

"Welcome to the Wyoming Territorial Prison, I am Warden Hardston. I trust that the rules and regulations of this institution have been adequately explained to you. Use your time wisely here and reflect on your past wrongdoings, work hard, obey the rules and you will find me a just man. Deviations from your path to redemption and rehabilitation will be dealt with swiftly and harshly. The guards have the power and leeway to discipline with varying physical forces or remove privileges. I oversee serious discipline issues and take care of misguided repeat offenders. Behave and your stay in this institution will be productive to yourself and society."

Warden Hardston stood straight in his fine black suit, smoothed his slicked back black hair with his hand, then stroked his thick mustache consciously highlighting his different circumstance to the naked and shorn men in front of him. The warden's cold gray eyes appraised each new prisoner in turn. At the far left a young man, whose arms shook, stared at the floor and would not meet his eyes.

"He's of no consequence - easily cowed," thought the warden.

The older, fortyish, now bald hirsute prisoner straightened his back, puffed out his chest and met the gray eyes in defiance. The man dropped his pose after only a few seconds and slumped in resignation. Warden Hardston dismissed him as easily broken as well.

The last man on the right stood impassive, eyes focused in front, hands steady, feet shoulder width apart and in spite of his circumstance managed to exude an air of confidence. "I finally meet Kid Curry," thought the warden as the Kid's unreadable blue eyes, belying none of the emotions that were roiling just below the surface, steadily met the warden's gray ones. The two men stared at each other, taking the measure of the man opposite, each conscious of what was at stake. The tension increased noticeably in the room as the silence and minutes dragged on. The warden blinked, coughed and turned to the guard beside him. "Carry on."

As Warden Hardston strode importantly out the door, he vowed in silent annoyance, "We shall see who the stronger man is, Curry. You cannot win. I have you for life, how long your life is, remains to be seen."

The heavyset older guard, Riggs, barked out the order to get dressed.

The new inmates wasted little time donning the ill-fitting coarse clothing. During that time, one of the younger guards went over to a small closet off the main prisoner supply room and retrieved a set of leg irons.

Kid could hear the guard come up from behind him as a curt, "Stand still prisoner L1314," was shouted. Iron shackles connected by a heavy, strong eighteen-inch chain were locked around Kid's ankles.

Captain of the guard Munch took pleasure in announcing, "Prisoner L1314, you are subject to maximum security measures."

Munch came to stand right in the Kid's face, leaned in to whisper in his ear, "Get used to them, Curry, you're going to be a broken, useless creature before you'll go around unchained." With that Munch stepped back and roared, "Line up."

With considerable prodding with the three guard's sturdy wooden handles of the small but fearsome leather lash they carried the new inmates of the Wyoming Territorial Prison formed a line, right hand on the man in front's shoulder, heads down.

Upon the command to "move out", they started to walk in awkward lock-step out the now unlocked iron barred gate opposite the wooden door from which they entered.

The little procession made their way slowly through a dingy whitewashed corridor in silence except for the clinking and scraping of Kid's leg irons. They stopped before another heavy iron barred gate. Riggs used a key from the ring chained to his belt to unlock the gate, and they entered a small enclosed space. He turned and relocked it.

One of the younger guards rang a bell on the wall summoning a guard from the hallway directly in front of them. The iron portal to the first floor North cellblock was opened. Miller and Tedmen were separated from Kid and escorted by two of the guards along with the cellblock guard down the long dim hall of the North Wing.

The remaining guard, Riggs, pushed Kid to follow Munch through the now opened gate to the North stairs. The three ascended two flights of stairs to the third floor, with Kid stumbling over the chains once or twice, until they reached the uppermost prison cell block floor reserved for those deemed dangerous, or long timers. A waiting guard opened the portal gate and shoved the Kid into and down the long iron walkway.

Curry looked neither right nor left. He didn't want to see his immediate future through the small square openings in iron cell doors or glimpse lost freedom through the narrow windows. The thud of heavy footsteps and the clinking of chains on the iron walkway seemed unnaturally loud in the quiet of the cellblock. The last cell door stood open, number 314; Kid's eyes focused on the iron grill and knew his destination was imminent. A rough push inside caused him to stagger momentarily as the heavy door shut with a resounding clang. It echoed endlessly in the silence of his mind as he took in his immediate surroundings. Kid actively controlled his breathing, tried to slow and steady it, in an effort to halt the rising bile up into his throat and calm the sense of anxiety overtaking him.

"Home, sweet home," thought Kid sarcastically as anger replaced fear when his eyes surveyed the small space.

The cell was superficially clean, small and narrow about seven feet by four feet, with an arched ceiling. A checkerboard pattern of light and shadow spread across the floor echoing the pattern of the cell door. A narrow metal cot covered by a thin straw mattress was against the wall. Piled on the cot was folded gray linens consisting of one threadbare towel, one small washcloth, two sheets, one pillowcase, one thin wool blanket and one lumpy pillow. Kid picked up the pillow, held it close to his nose briefly and confirmed to his dismay that the pillow was the source of the undesirable strong smell of lye mixing with lingering vomit that pervaded the space adding to the general malodor characteristic of all jails and prisons. A wooden stand in the corner held a small wooden bucket of water, a dented tin basin and the bottom shelf of the stand held a chipped enamel chamber pot with an ill-fitting lid. He hung the towel and washcloth from two pegs on the side of the stand. Curry made up the "bed" then sank slowly down on it. Sitting with elbows on his knees, his fingers sought to rake through his curls and instead felt unfamiliar smoothness as his head dropped into his hands. Kid Curry willed himself into numbness as the shadows crept deeper into the now occupied cell.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

 _ **Early August 1883**_

Hannibal Heyes was sitting in a nice comfortable train club car feeling very pleased with himself. Life was good. The wound in his side had healed and he felt good as new. There hadn't been a whiff of recognition anywhere from anyone. He had money in his pocket, food in stomach, good whiskey in his hand and in a short while he would join what he anticipated would be a profitable poker game. He couldn't wait to be reunited with his partner to share the good fortune and perhaps a little teasing.

The ride from Denver ensuring safe delivery of valuable porcelains to a wealthy rancher in Texas couldn't have gone smoother. With $500 in pay burning a hole in Heyes' pocket the ex-outlaw decided to take up his employer's offer to round out a poker game. He wound up at staying an extra two days before heading back to Wyoming. The diversion proved profitable adding about $2,500 in poker winnings to the kitty.

Heyes smiled, dimples in evidence, at the thought he didn't even need the coin toss to avoid the long dusty days in the saddle moving a herd of horses. The dimples disappeared as the smile melted away to be replaced by a frown of concern. Heyes just realized he didn't send a telegram to the Kid who was probably worrying about the delay. With the way his partner's mood has been lately that could be a problem. Heyes stared out the window at the passing monotonous landscape in contemplation of the puzzle of Kid Curry. His partner's morose mood concerned Heyes. He understood the guilt Kid felt, despite Heyes' protestations of the contrary, about the bullet wound in Heyes' side. He also knew Kid didn't take life, regardless of the circumstance, without it weighing heavily on Curry's soul, though Kid tried to deny the emotional toll. His normally laconic but active partner had become uncharacteristically introspective, still and uncommunicative for far too long.

The incident at Impasse Mountain needed to be put firmly in the past, once and for all. What was needed was a Hannibal Heyes Plan to restore Kid Curry's normal amiable disposition. Perhaps a trip to San Francisco and a visit to Soapy or Silky would do the trick. They had the money to enjoy the delights of the city for a short while; delights that would take the Kid's mind off his troubles, women, good food, low stakes enjoyable poker for Kid and high stakes profitable poker for Heyes. After all, he did the thinking in this partnership, not the Kid! Heyes felt a sudden urgent need to return to Porterville.

The pleasant diversion of the poker game on the train failed to distract Heyes' thoughts for long. As the train rolled on, Heyes felt irrationally anxious. Worry was in full bloom when the train stopped at a little town on the Wyoming border for a two-hour layover. He needed to see the Kid. Heyes waited impatiently for the train to come to a stop before jumping off. He wanted to send a telegram to Thaddeus Jones, he should have sent one earlier when he knew he would be returning later than planned.

The train platform was unusually crowded with a large amount of people who all seemed to talking or shouting at once. Most of the commotion was concentrated in the center of the waiting area. As Heyes walked over to cautiously investigate he saw a newsboy holding aloft a paper; the remainder rapidly disappearing at his feet.

"EXTRA, EXTRA, READ ALL ABOUT IT. HANNIBAL HEYES GETS AMNESTY, KID CURRY GETS LIFE IN PRISON!"

The brown-haired ex-outlaw stopped dead in his tracks his heart hammering in his chest. "What, amnesty, prison, I couldn't have heard that right," he whispered to himself. Heyes became aware of snippets of conversation around him.

"I always heard that Hannibal Heyes was a charming man."

"An intelligent man like Heyes deserves a second chance."

"Curry's a killer, life imprisonment is too good for him; a rope is what he needs."

"Once a thief, always a thief."

"Who got the reward on the Kid?"

"Some guy named Joshua Smith. The reporter couldn't locate him for an interview. Probably out spending all that money."

"I guess the rumors were true, they have been going straight."

"I read Curry killed two outlaws just like him not too long ago. He couldn't have been going too straight."

Heyes forced himself to move, to approach the newsboy and buy a paper. He forced himself to look down at the headline. Sounds faded around Heyes. He stood immobile clutching the paper tightly in two hands. Eyes focused on the large black and white headline. He struggled to read the words. People jostled him, pushed him away from the newsboy. Color drained from his face as comprehension set in. His knees felt weak. He needed to sit down. Heyes turned, walked shakily to a bench and dropped down.

"Kid, Kid, what in the hell happened? How come I'm a free man and you're..." Heyes couldn't bring himself to finish the thought.

Hannibal Heyes sat on the railroad station bench stunned. He looked around and spied the telegraph desk. Jumping up, paper still held tightly in one hand, Heyes walked quickly over to send a telegram.

To: Sheriff Trevors, Porterville, Wyoming. Stop.

TJ. Stop. How, What, When? Stop. JS

The reply came even before Heyes could establish a good pacing pattern round the station floor.

To: JS. Stop Urgent. Stop. Return to Porterville immediately. Stop.

Do not do anything. Stop. Lom

Heyes wished that horses with wings really existed.

* * *

"LOM, what is going on?" The door to the sheriff's office swung open and hit the wall with a bang. Brown intense eyes searched his friend's face for reassurance that the situation was some horrible misunderstanding, that the papers got the story wrong. This was not the way it was supposed to be. Not the way Heyes envisioned amnesty to occur. Not by himself. Not alone.

"Not here, Heyes. I'll lock up and we'll go to my house." Lom gripped Heyes by the arm to steer him back out the door.

It was dark by the time Lom and Heyes arrived in Lom's yard. Lom refused to talk during the ride there. As they came up to the barn, Heyes noted a familiar dark chestnut gelding in the corral. Hope against hope surged in former outlaw's chest that Kid would be inside drinking coffee, making himself a sandwich; hope that died as soon as it was born. The two friends mounted the porch steps in silence. Lom opened the door, lit the lamp on the entry wall and crossed into the living room to pour two generous glasses of his best whiskey. He handed one to Heyes.

"Congratulations, Heyes, on the amnesty you have worked so hard and for so long to achieve," Lom quietly said as he held up his glass to toast Heyes.

Heyes automatically brought the glass to his lips but his eyes fixed on the items neatly arranged on and along the sideboard in the adjoining room. Floppy brown hat with silver conches banded around it, stained packed leather saddle bags, envelopes, the number couldn't be seen exactly, sheepskin coat perched on top of a bedroll standing on its side and, most disturbingly, a well-worn, brown leather gun belt with a perfectly balanced, impeccably clean Colt 45.

"Lom, start talking. Kid…" Heyes started in his leader of the gang voice.

"Heyes, sit down and listen, let me finish before you flatten me," replied Lom in his no nonsense sheriff's voice.

Lom talked and Heyes listened. Whiskey was poured repeatedly. Heyes paced, sat, and paced again. What should have been a joyous occasion held all the somberness of a funeral. Lom finished his tale and Heyes asked his questions. Lom handed Heyes three envelopes from the sideboard and left the room.

Heyes opened the first and barely glanced at the amnesty papers. He threw the bounty money on the table in disgust and anger. The final envelope held several sheets of paper covered with Kid's scrawl. Heyes' hands shook as he held the sheets up to the light.

"Han. I don't have your silver tongue and your way with words but I need to tell you things that never get said. I need you to understand…"

Hannibal Heyes stood staring out the window at nothing. For the first time since he was eleven years old silent tears flowed freely down his face, unstoppable. He hadn't felt this loved since another lifetime as the enormity of his partner's sacrifice sank in. However, he never felt this lost and alone before in his entire life. His gazed refocused from the dark night to the reflection in the glass. How many times, Heyes wondered, had he stood looking out a window or in a mirror and had seen his partner's image? Talked to the reflected image before turning around and sharing a thought, a worry or a plan? No longer would Kid's comforting steady presence be behind him. Hannibal Heyes wanted nothing more than to turn time back.

Heyes finally shuddered and made an effort to pull himself together. He needed a plan, a Hannibal Heyes Plan. Tomorrow he would start to plan for the rest of his life. The rest of his life included sharing it with his lifelong best friend, cousin and partner, Jedediah Curry. Heyes turned from the window and went in search of Lom.


	4. Chapter 4

**Part Three – Marking Time**

 **Chapter Four**

 _ **August 1883**_

The discordant clanging of the cellblock bell woke the inmate of cell 314 from his restless sleep. His right hand shot to the top of the bed frame and hit the wall of stone.

"Ow, dammit," muttered L1314 as he examined the now-bleeding knuckle of his blistered right hand. Did he say that aloud? L1314 rested on his elbows and looked toward the cell door glad not to see a guard on the other side.

Kid Curry noticed it was light as he sank back down onto the lumpy thin mattress, rubbing his bristled face. He realized it must be Sunday. He remembered from the rules he had memorized four long days ago that on Sundays, instead of rising at 5:00 am, the inmates rose at 7:00 am.

Prisoners were expected to rise precisely when the bell rang, not before and definitely not after. He found this out his first morning. Kid never did like waking in what he considered the middle of the night. He did often enough in the past but that was when Heyes needed a sounding board or work required it. Work that landed him here, he thought ruefully, as he unconsciously rubbed the back of his left shoulder; the shoulder that the cellblock guard brought his hard leather lash onto when he wasn't standing at attention when the cell door had opened at 5:30 am.

Kid dragged himself from the cot, muscles protesting. For a man who didn't like work hard on the back, the long workdays were taking some getting used to. His bruises were starting to collect bruises; the prodding, blows, and strikes from the guards' wooden-handled lashes were doing some damage. Kid couldn't seem to work hard or quick enough for their liking. Curry stuffed his feet into scratchy gray wool socks and the low black prison-made shoes. He made his bed. L1314 was standing at attention when the young red-haired guard, O'Reilly, unlocked the iron door.

Riggs then unlocked the cell next to the Kid's. Both inmates stepped out of the cells and turned facing down the walkway. L1314 took two shuffling steps forward and put his right hand on 151313's right shoulder. The prisoner line advanced down the iron walkway as the guards continued to unlock cells; inmates stepped out, turned and locked arms onto shoulders.

The dining hall echoed with the footsteps of inmates entering in lockstep from the south and north entrances. The prisoners lined up in front of long wooden benches. The Captain of the Guard, Munch, tapped a bell from the front of the room. Inmates dropped their arms, turned in unison and sat at the long battered wood tables. They kept their heads bowed. A tin pint cup, small pan, dull knife, bent fork and a tin spoon was before each man. Munch tapped the bell again and the men started to eat. Kid noted hash and a slice of bread in the pan and coffee in the cup, a welcome change from the grits, and water he had been getting. No sound was heard in the hall except the scraping of utensils on plates and cups thumping back onto tables. The bell was tapped a third time and the prisoners rose from their seats, reformed the line and marched out when the bell rang a fourth time.

* * *

Curry sat staring across his cell, determinedly keeping his mind as blank as the wall. Kid almost wished it was a workday, as the unrelenting physical toil kept his body occupied and the resulting utter fatigue prohibited prolonged inner debates at night. Just as there were cracks in the wall, thoughts kept threatening to create cracks in his determination. He stubbornly refused to give in to what if, if only, and I wonder. The distinctive sound of a key in the lock caused Kid to turn. Riggs, O'Reilly and an inmate he didn't recognize stood at the cell opening. Riggs moved in and bent to unlock the Kid's leg irons. The inmate passed a new set of uniforms and linens in.

"Laundry detail's here L1314. Change clothes, strip and remake your cot, and then stand at attention. You have earned an additional privilege for successfully completing the probationary period of your imprisonment. A brown ticket is for tobacco use. Do you chew tobacco?"

Kid looked up at Riggs. "No, Sir," he replied. He couldn't believe how good it felt to utter two words without fear of punishment and he'd only been here four days. O'Reilly did not hang the brown wooden ticket on the little rack of hooks mounted to the right of the cell door.

Riggs went on. "You can earn a yellow ticket, which is chapel choir privileges, and the last of the ticket privileges. Wyoming Territorial Prison has an excellent chapel choir. There are only a certain number of prisoners allowed in the choir. We have two openings now. The warden allows the reverend to audition all new inmates when openings occur. The choir practices on Friday night and Sunday after breakfast until service."

After Kid changed, leg irons back in place, and his cot remade, the guard led him out onto the walkway and down to join a prisoner at the other end by the cellblock entrance.

* * *

An all-purpose room on the first floor in the main part of the prison was set up with benches in rows. A small wooden alter was placed at one end of the room with an old upright piano off to the right. A short pudgy young man in cleric's clothes, seated at the piano bench, stood to greet the incoming line of seven inmates.

"Gentlemen, I am Reverend Dewing, the prison chaplain. I perform Sunday services, and in addition manage this institution's choir, of which I am very proud. I provide a Bible study group after services and am available as needed for counseling." With this last remark, the reverend glanced at the guards somewhat apprehensively.

"Warden Hardston has graciously allowed you to audition for the chapel choir, an activity the participating inmates find uplifting as it eases one's road to redemption, and is enjoyable for more obvious reasons. Each one of you will take a turn to sing us any selection with which you are familiar. Then we shall sing scales together. Who would like to go first?"

Curry was last in line.

"Ain't it hard to stumble.

You've got no place to fall.

Ain't it hard to stumble.

You've got no place at all.

In this whole wide world I've got no place at all.

I'm a stranger here.

Stranger everywhere."

His voice quieted, faltered to a stop, paused, and then, taking a deep breath as a large crack in his determination appeared, started again softly, tremulously:

"'Tis the gift to be simple,

'tis the gift to be free,'

Tis the gift to come down where we ought to be,

And when we find ourselves in the place just right,

'Twill be in the valley of love and delight.

When true simplicity is gain'd, To bow and to bend we shan't be asham'd,

To turn, turn will be our delight,

Till by turning, turning we come round right."

Curry's eyes focused inward as his tenor voice shook with emotion, and then steadied until it filled the room with warmth that was almost tangible. The reverend, an able judge of character, perceived that the inmate was living in another time and place. The song evidently meant a great deal to this man. The reverend noticed the introspective expression of almost all of the inmates as L1314 fell silent, the song finished. He could not reconcile his expectation of Kid Curry, infamous gunslinger, Fastest Gun in the West, notorious bank and train robber, with the young man before him.

* * *

Monday morning in his well-appointed office, Warden Hardston sat behind a large mahogany desk sipping a cup of coffee. Captain of the Guard Munch sat in one of the two burgundy leather chairs in front of the desk.

"Tell me about Curry. How has he adjusted?" asked the warden as he played with a piece of paper on his desk.

"So far, Curry's been no trouble. He does what he's told to do when he's told. We have him working in the fields at the moment. I've always heard he has a hot temper but he's keeping tight control of himself. We've been prodding him physically but haven't been working too hard on his mental state yet. We'll need to step that up. He knows that he's being scrutinized by the guards and the other prisoners." Munch paused, looked out the window for a moment, frowned and then went on.

"He's still too self-assured, too in control. Although, you can see in his eyes and in the way he tenses up, it won't take much more to push him over the edge."

The warden put down the paper and stood up to walk around the desk and stand before the window. "The good Reverend Dewing has requested permission for Curry to join the choir," the warden stated mockingly.

He continued forcefully as he strode back and forth before the desk, "Permission denied! I want him broken quickly. With his reputation, he can be a dangerous influence on the other prisoners. I want everyone to see that the big famous gunslinger is merely another worthless piece of human garbage. Put him on night pot duty. Get him wallowing in shit to get the idea he is shit. Have your guards keep a very close eye on him, let nothing slide. We'll see how long he can keep control."

Munch nodded as he left the room, "He'll break soon, they all do."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

 _ **Late August 1883**_

In the days since Heyes' amnesty was awarded, Lom came home to find Heyes silent and brooding or filled with anger. Lom understood the range of emotions his mercurial friend must be coping with and was grateful that Heyes remained close to Lom's home the majority of his time in Porterville. He caught himself more than once wishing Kid was there to deal with Heyes; Kid would know what to do or say but then he remembered the Kid's decision was the reason for the whole sorry mess in the first place.

Early on a hot August afternoon Heyes stood on Porterville's train platform with Lom as the train steamed into the station. The few travelers present were sitting listlessly on a bench in the shade at the far end of the platform paying little attention to men in the sun.

"Keep in touch, Heyes. You know you're always welcome. Consider this your home until you get settled." Lom stated as he shook Heyes hand.

"I know, Lom, and I'm grateful for all your help. I'll be fine and I promise I'll keep letting you know where I am. I have to, in case the Kid writes a letter; this is the only address he knows to send it to," Heyes replied with a grin.

Lom was pleased to see Heyes in a good mood. Lom attributed the positive change to the fact that Heyes now had a plan of action to pursue in his quest for Kid Curry's freedom. Yesterday Heyes had sent a second round of telegrams to various friends and acquaintances and Lom knew Heyes intended to visit many of them. He hoped that amid the congratulations those same friends would help Heyes adjust to a life without the Kid. The odds were heavily stacked against Kid Curry ever walking out of the Wyoming Territorial Prison. The Kid knew it, Lom knew it and Lom was pretty sure the Kid wanted Heyes to accept that fact. Only Heyes wasn't ready to hear the truth yet. Lom doubted Kid would write and would rather Heyes moved on in pursuit of his new life.

Nonetheless, Lom pledged to ask around for recommendations about a good criminal defense attorney for Heyes to consult. Lom would store Kid Curry's few possessions, take care of both partners' horses and would act as a way station forwarding and holding messages for Heyes. Heyes, in turn, would pay him a small monthly stipend despite Lom's protestations that it wasn't necessary. Heyes did not want to take advantage of a good friend and knew a sheriff's salary was not overly generous.

Heyes boarded the train that would take him back down to Texas and Big Mac McCreedy. He settled himself in the back of the last car and looked out the window. He couldn't help but reflect on the irony of the situation. Just a little over a week ago, he was a wanted man on a train from Texas thinking life was good and looking forward to new adventures with his cousin and partner. Today he was a free man traveling back to Texas and he felt adrift, deeply unhappy and didn't know when, if ever, he would see his best friend again.

He had mailed a letter to Jedediah Curry just before walking to the train station. He hoped the Kid would be able to read it and hear Heyes' voice in his head as Heyes heard Curry's. This letter had been the most difficult document Heyes had ever written. The man with the silver tongue struggled to find the words to express his thoughts. He never really needed words with Curry, the Kid just knew. Heyes lost count of the number of times he started the letter only to crumple the papers up in frustration. He marveled that his partner, who was not known for his verbal or literary accomplishments, was able to pen a letter that Heyes would cherish forever.

To ward off the constant threats of melancholy, self-recrimination, and anger, Heyes tried to focus on the task at hand. He planned to find the best criminal defense attorney he could afford. He knew he would need a great amount of money to finance his quest. The fastest legal way Heyes could think of obtaining large amounts of cash was by playing smart, high stakes poker. He unconsciously patted his jacket and felt the reluctantly pocketed bounty money on Kid Curry issued to Joshua Smith.

The bounty was an evil necessary to use as a buy-in for the type of games he needed to win. Heyes thought sourly he would love to ask Kid what in the Sam Hill he was thinking. In the first place, Heyes had more than a few incredulous telegrams to answer in order to clear up the misunderstanding that he did not turn his partner in and in fact the whole situation was an unpleasant surprise. In the second place, the Kid should have known that he was worth much more than any bounty to his partner.

* * *

Big Mac sent his carriage and ranch foreman to meet Joshua Smith at the train station along with instructions to make himself comfortable at the ranch house. Big Mac would see him at dinner. The foreman inquired about Mr. McCreedy's nephew, Mr. Jones. Heyes gathered that Big Mac had not told his employees the partners' true identities yet so replied Mr. Jones was well but unavoidably delayed. The plump friendly Mexican housekeeper, Rosa, greeted Heyes at the ranch and showed him to his usual room, all the while chattering in slightly accented English.

"Good to see you again Mr. Smith." A sideways stern look caused her to pause and add, "I mean Joshua. Where is Mr. Jo.., Thaddeus? It is always so nice when you both come. Thaddeus is such a nice boy, so kind, so polite." She winked and chuckled, "Not like his uncle, Si? He likes to eat like his uncle though, Si? Not like you. You pick like bird, no wonder you too skinny. Dinner will be ready soon, don't be late. You eat like a man tonight." Rosa instructed as she left the room.

Heyes freshened up then wandered downstairs into the library where he helped himself to a cigar and poured a glass of Mac's best scotch. Heyes was toasting the bust of Caesar and fervently hoping that Mr. Jones was well and eating like a man when he heard Big Mac's booming voice from the hallway.

"Joshua, good to see you again, my boy, even if you came to try to win big at my Saturday night poker gam," Big Mac laughed in greeting. He suddenly stopped and his expression became serious.

"Congratulations on the amnesty, although it takes away my advantage over you. Too bad about that. But I want to know what happened to Thaddeus. Why didn't that no-good, pussy-footin' Wyoming governor give my nephew the amnesty he deserved. Dangerous gunslinger-why that fake rancher politician wishes he had the lad's talent. Career thief and irredeemable criminal; that's a lie; he's been living straight just as you have. It's not right to go back on a man's word," Mac angrily ranted with all seriousness as he stomped across the room.

Heyes put his whiskey down and sat, gesturing Big Mac to do the same. Slightly amused, Heyes started as he crossed his long legs and examined the tip of the glowing cigar.

"Mac, first I appreciate your congratulations and your concern for the Kid but you do remember he's not really your nephew."

Mac held his hand up and incompletely covering up his embarrassment interrupted, "I know, I know, but there is just something about that boy; he needs a rich uncle. I don't care if he is the Fastest Gun in the West, dangerous gunman or a career thief. That stupid governor of yours can't be allowed to break up the best team of men I ever had working for me. So what are we going to do about it?"

"Glad you asked, Mac, because I have some ideas that you can help with." Heyes leaned forward and looked Big Mac straight in the eye with his intense gaze.

"One of the biggest problems is that Kid wasn't captured and tried. He made a separate deal with the governor and turned himself in, pled guilty to all his crimes and agreed to the maximum sentence in return for my immediate amnesty. Now before you say anything, I had no idea what he was up to and couldn't change anything when I found out. It's a long story that I'll tell you later.

What you can do is to ask around your wealthy rancher, railroad and banker type friends to see if anyone can recommend a first-class defense attorney; not that any of your acquaintances would have need for one," Heyes managed to get out with only a hint of sarcasm as Mac looked slightly affronted back at him.

"Next, you're right. I am going to try to win big at the poker game. I have a ten thousand dollar stake and I intend to walk out on Sunday with plenty more. No tricks, just serious straight poker. I'm going to need funds to live on, to pay the attorney or to grease some palms as a gesture of reparation. I'll beg, borrow and do what I can to legally get Kid freed. Money is what I don't have at the moment and can't steal to get so I would appreciate any invitations to high stakes poker games that you can rustle up for me. I don't care if it is as Joshua Smith or Hannibal Heyes as long as the games are legitimate.

Lastly, most of the opposition to giving us the amnesty didn't come from the masses of ordinary citizens; somehow, thanks to the dime novels, Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry became sort of loveable rogue folk heroes. Certainly, that's not accurate but it works in our favor. No, the real opposition is from people you have contact with and who finance political campaigns: the bankers, railroad owners and stockholders, and the Cattlemen's and Wyoming Stock Grower's Associations. If you could in the course of your business dealings or whenever you can put pressure on them to be less vindictive it would help. After all, we're no longer a threat. I'll have to work out the public relations angle better but you get the idea. What do you think? Can you help me, Mac?" Heyes' deep brown eyes never wavered from Mac's face.

Mac looked at Heyes and thought he saw a brief fleeting hint of desperation in Heyes' usual confident facade. "Yes, Joshua – I mean Heyes. I think I can help in all those areas."

Rosa appeared at the doorway, waited patiently for a minute or two then started to give Big Mac the evil eye. " Now, dinner is ready. Rosa doesn't like her food to get cold. We can talk some more after we have a nice meal. You can tell me that long story of yours and we'll flesh out your plans." Mac pretended to ignore Rosa while acting on the silently sent message.

"Big Mac, thanks. And I don't care what you call me as long as you're willing to help me win Kid's freedom." The two men rose from the comfortable armchairs, finished the before-dinner drink, stubbed out Mac's expensive cigars and followed the delicious aroma into the dining room.

The McCreedy ranch was quiet. The hot August Texas day had cooled and a gentle warm breeze blew from the north. Most of the household was asleep. Mr. Smith retired to his room to read before sleep could claim him.

Patrick McCreedy was restless, unusual for him when he wasn't actively feuding with Armendariz. He stood smoking another cigar on the expansive veranda of his ranch house. He absently watched the horses in the distant corral in the light of the half moon and contemplated all that he and Heyes had discussed this evening.

Big Mac wasn't a man given to analyzing his actions. He considered himself a simple man driven to succeed by whatever means necessary, sometimes within dubious boundaries but basically law-abiding. He tried to tell himself that the reason why he was so incensed by the Wyoming governor's actions and why he was so eager to assist Hannibal Heyes was that it was in his own best interest. He respected and admired Heyes' sharp intelligence, craftiness, confident nature, chameleon-like social ability and quick wit. Heyes had many of the same qualities Big Mac saw in himself and he was secretly pleased to have never conclusively bested the man. Heyes provided a worthy friendly adversary, a reliable if sometimes forced employee and, if he was honest, the knowledge that the most wanted and successful outlaws or rather ex-outlaws in the West were at his disposal tickled his fancy. He also now considered Heyes a good friend.

His feelings regarding Kid Curry were more convoluted and not readily explainable. He did admire Curry's extraordinary skill with a six-gun and certainly having the Fastest Gun in the West in your sway was a valuable asset, even though Mac doubted he could ever actually make Curry do anything he absolutely did not want to do. However, the slip of the tongue this evening betrayed Big Mac's true feelings that he hadn't even admitted to himself. The truth, he realized as he tightened the belt on his silk dressing gown over his expansive waistline, was that he had started to think of Thaddeus Jones/Kid Curry as a real nephew he never had. He had told Heyes the truth in that there was something about Kid Curry that got to Mac. The lad was a paradoxical mix of dangerousness and vulnerability, of little boy naiveté and adventurousness combined with cold practicality and an amiability tempered with a sometimes fatalistic outlook that cried out for a rich uncle protector. Patrick McCreedy, despite all rational arguments against the notion, had developed a genuine affection for Jedediah Curry that went beyond his material usefulness to the Texas rancher.

Big Mac McCreedy looked up at the moon and realized he didn't care why, but he would lend all his considerable figurative weight to join in Hannibal Heyes' mission in any way he could. In fact Mac wouldn't even mind too much losing to Heyes at poker; the money was going to a worthy cause. His mind settled, Mac made his way inside and up to his comfortable bed for a good night's sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

 _ **September 1883**_

Kid raised his head and glanced over his shoulder, taking perverse pleasure in the slightly green complexion of the two guards that constantly watched over him whenever he was out of his cell. Today, as it was on most days, Riggs and O'Reilly had the honor of guarding the Wyoming Territorial Prison's most famous prisoner.

Kid could do with less infamy and the resultant attention it caused. His every action seemed to be evaluated in relation to the almighty list of rules. Curry's self-control was taxed to his limit. He promised himself every day he would ignore the whispered comments he alone was meant to hear. He would dance the warden's jig and turn the other cheek when he was roughly treated. He would not let them provoke him into falling into the trap and giving the guards the barest excuse they sought to satisfy the desire to punish him. He would try to act as Heyes would tell him to.

Curry both cursed and gave thanks for his partner's voice in his head. He desperately wanted to forget but just as desperately relied on the inner voice to get him through the day. He didn't know how long the memories would sustain him, would the imaginary silver tongue tarnish with the passage of time and eventually fade away? The Kid increasingly didn't have any faith in his ability to cope if he was totally alone in body and mind.

He gloomily reflected that it took less than two weeks to lose all prison privileges. _Not that it mattered,_ he thought. He didn't expect any visitors or letters and didn't plan on writing any letters either. The past was over, done with. The people he left behind were better off with him as history. The only person whom he was truly worried about would find it easier to move on with his life if there was no contact between them ever again. Hannibal Heyes would receive no letter from prisoner L1314 and no visits would be encouraged to remind each of their final loss of family.

Curry contemplated his new existence, which had fallen into the prison routine. Awake with the five am bell, wash, dress, and make the bed, then stand at attention until the cell was unlocked. He moved, last in line, in lockstep to an unsatisfying breakfast. Stand in formation while work assignments were given out. He was assigned the sanitation duty almost exclusively. Work in the North Wing in the morning and after a short break without lunch, he completed his assignment in the larger newer South Wing in the afternoon. Dinner in the mess hall, while lacking in quality, made up for it in quantity, was a welcome break before being locked in his small cell for the night.

Conversation was prohibited and most days passed without Kid saying more than ten words in response to direct questions. He seldom had contact with the other prisoners outside of meals although he could feel their eyes on him if he was in their area. When he judged moments of opportunity had arrived, Kid would try to make eye contact or use gestures to communicate with the other inmates but his efforts mostly went unheeded. He had taken for granted the connection he shared with Heyes that enabled each to know what the other was thinking based on a look, a glance and a few gestures and grew frustrated with his fellow inmates' lack of interest in even trying to communicate. The convicts kept their heads down, moved like sheep and worked like dogs.

Warden Hardston ruled over the prison from his office and woe to a prisoner who was brought before him. The prison rules and regulations were, in Hardston's view, carved in stone and enforced with zeal. The humanitarian efforts of the reverend or the doctor were dependent upon Warden Hardston's approval. The warden espoused rehabilitation but in the short time the Kid had been an enforced resident of Wyoming's penal institution, he didn't see much evidence of actual practices to better the inmate's lives after prison. Of course, for him, life in prison was all there was ever going to be.

Curry was getting to know the guards. A sizable group liked nothing better than to humiliate and dominate the inmates. They could make a convict's life miserable physically and mentally. A smaller second group remained neutral and seemed to want to do their job without taking undue pleasure in their position. They allowed a man to retain a small amount of dignity and would sometimes overlook minor transgressions of the rules. The remaining contingent was on both ends of the extremes; there were those that were truly cruel, such as Captain Munch, and there were those who were lazy.

"Ughhh," a soft groan of revulsion escaped L1314's lips as he panted shallowly, trying not to retch as a particularly strong foul odor brought him back to the present as it wafted over him when he dumped another piss-pot into the cesspool opening. Kid shot a furtive glance at the guards behind him who had taken a couple of steps back and become a darker shade of green. The only consolation to the lowest job in the entire prison was that the guards were clearly unhappy with the assignment as well. He tried to remember how long it was since he breathed fresh air working in the fields. The days all ran together as the pots had to be collected, emptied and cleaned every day. The water in the small wooden buckets in the cells was replenished and the basins emptied and cleaned by L1314 daily. Every day was more of the same.

Sundays measured the passing weeks and he only knew Sundays by the difference in breakfast and dinner, which was just a little bit more palatable in addition to the later wake-up bell. In fact, he worked even harder on Sundays since the same amount of work was expected in a shorter amount of time. He was not allowed to attend services. It bothered Curry not necessarily because he was a religious man, he would be the first to admit he wasn't, but as a matter of principle. Then he remembered he was an irredeemable criminal, career thief and violent dangerous gunslinger. Maybe he should live up to everyone's expectations, except they weren't Heyes' expectations and what Heyes thought of him was the only opinion that really counted.

A low grumble emitted from the Kid's stomach, reminding him it was some hours since breakfast and would still be some hours until supper. L1314's stomach still hadn't adjusted to a steady routine of only two meals a day. In spite of the foul smell, the hint of grin formed on Curry's lips at the thought he could be up to his elbows in piss and crap all day and still be constantly hungry. _Heyes would be as dark a shade of green as the guards and wouldn't want to eat at all. Damm, Heyes was creeping into his thoughts again, it was just so hard to keep him out of his mind_ _when he needed him there._ Kid chastised himself for being mentally weak.

"Finish cleaning the pots and hurry up so we can get out of here," Riggs admonished and he leaned forward to prod Curry in the back with the ever-present lash handle. The wet floor and the reluctance of Riggs to get closer to Curry in the slop room caused Riggs to slip on the slick stone and go sliding into Curry. The Kid turned and saw him coming. He tried to move quickly to grab Riggs and stop him from falling but the chain between his ankles hindered his lunge. Kid was able to only grab onto one arm and they spun around with Curry inadvertently flinging Riggs into the cart with the unemptied pots. Riggs crashed into the cart before sliding to the floor with the pots falling on and around him, drenching him with their noxious contents. Curry went flying in the opposite direction and with his feet catching in the chain of the leg irons he fell to the wet floor and slid headfirst into the wall. O'Reilly stared open-mouthed and gagging at the resulting mess before tentatively going to Riggs' aid.

Riggs was tossing the pots off him in all directions as he struggled to stand in the mess. He brushed off O'Reilly's attempts to help him up as his entire body started to shake with rage. Riggs grabbed the handle of the lash at his waist and with urine dripping from his soaked uniform stalked over to Curry.

L1314 lay blinking, temporarily stunned, against the slop room wall.

"YOU, YOU, YOU DID THAT ON PUPOSE!" stuttered Riggs as he raised his right hand, knuckles white from gripping the wood lash handle tightly.

Crack! The wet leather struck L1314 across his right shoulder and down his chest. Riggs booted the stunned man high in the abdomen with enough force that a whoosh was heard as the breath was forced out of L1314's lungs. Riggs went to kick Curry again as the Kid wheezed and drew his legs up, his right arm shooting out to block Riggs' foot, knocking it away. O'Reilly forced his way between the prisoner on the floor and his enraged colleague before the confrontation escalated.

"Riggs, I'll handle him for now. Why don't you get cleaned up first, then we'll deal with what happened," O'Reilly calmly spoke to Riggs while blocking his access to L1314.

"Go back to the guard's room, get clean and changed. On your way, tell the Captain to send Stevens, I think he's assigned to relief today, to take your place until you get back. L1314 isn't going anywhere."

Riggs visibly calmed himself, stepped around O'Reilly and stared into Curry's angry blue eyes. "I'll deal with you later after you finish the work. It is not over, L1314."

With the threat hanging in the air, Riggs exited the room, leaving a wet trail behind him. O'Reilly turned and held out his hand to the inmate who was catching his breath and straightening his legs in preparation to stand. Curry looked questioningly up into O'Reilly's neutral green eyes. O'Reilly glanced at the door, reached down to grab L1314's arm, and helped him to his feet.

"It was an accident, wasn't it? To me, it looked like you were trying to keep Riggs from falling. You know, the Captain will believe Riggs. I'm not sure what's going to happen but I can guarantee you it won't be good," O'Reilly stated half apologetically.

He then added as he washed his hands in slop room's large sink, "Are you okay? Your head and your gut I mean."

"Yeah, I'm fine. The damn chain made me miss my footing. I certainly didn't mean to cause this, Sir" L1314 answered as he looked around the slop room.

Curry had no doubt that O'Reilly was right; he would never be believed and whatever was going to happen wasn't going to be good. He hoped that the sight of an infuriated Riggs, sitting in a puddle of piss with feces stuck in his hair would be worth the punishment.

"Thanks, O'Reilly, I mean, Sir, for how you acted," Curry added as he looked sideways at the young redheaded guard.

O'Reilly acknowledged L1314's gratitude with a nod of his head and the suggestion to get back to work and start cleaning up the mess as he retreated to the less malodorous doorway. Both men heard rapidly approaching footsteps coming down the hall.

Stevens, the relief guard, appeared and after a long look into the slop room remained at the door with O'Reilly. "Captain Munch sent me to cover for Riggs while he gets cleaned up; it's gonna take awhile."

Stevens lowered his voice so the prisoner wouldn't hear the conversation. "Said you were alone with Curry. I'm still not sure why we always have to have two guards with him? It isn't like he has his Colt with him and he hasn't exactly gone around attacking us since he's been here. Sometimes I think all the violent rumors about him are exaggerated but then again, he wouldn't be here if there wasn't truth in them, either. Did he attack Riggs and throw him into the piss-pots? I would have paid to see that."

"No, it was an accident, although Riggs will never see it that way," O'Reilly whispered back.

"We have to take him to the shower room at the end of the day. Captain Munch will meet us there." Stevens added, "Something 's planned, I think, but I'm not sure what."

* * *

Warden Hardston, Captain Munch, Riggs, and two additional guards were standing by a large wooden contraption set close to the pump in the shower room as O'Reilly and Stevens escorted L1314 though the door. Captain Munch met L1314's eyes and smiled at the flash of confusion that passed briefly across the inmate's face.

Curry surmised that the something not good was related to what appeared as a miniature train water tower set over a large wooden arm chair with ladders attached to the chair arms running up to the little water tower. He didn't know what to make of it but decided he didn't like it.

The object of interest was a large wooden chair with a frame attached along the two sides. The top of the frame supported a large deep tub positioned a few feet over the seat. Water could flow out the bottom of the tub through holes drilled in the bottom, with the flow rate regulated by a sliding board. The frame up alongside the chair held several slats along the sides that appeared similar to those that would support a shelf. The chair itself had leather straps attached to the armrests and front legs

"L1314, I have been appraised of your unacceptable behavior this afternoon. The shower chair will serve two purposes. One, you are filthy and need to be cleaned and two it is a punishment that fits the crime, so to speak," Warden Hardston pronounced from across the room.

"Captain Munch will supervise the discipline session now and place you on half rations for the following five days. Prisoners do not assault prison personnel. Prisoners perform their assigned duties quickly, and efficiently. They do not manufacture accidents. L1314, consider yourself warned; this is your first serious offense, the punishment will be harsher for further incidents." The warden held Kid's stare for a moment before turning to Munch.

"Proceed."

"Wait, I don't get to tell my side of the story? I don't plead guilty to this offense! Isn't the American way innocent until proven guilty? Justice don't count in prison, is that it warden?" Curry called out as he shook off the two waiting guards trying to take hold of his arms.

Warden Hardston walked over to L1314, looked up into those angry eyes and smiled in triumph. "I did not give you permission to speak. If you address me in the future the proper manner is Warden, may I speak, Sir? Ten days on half rations for speaking without permission." The warden hurried out of the room and from the smell, smiling to himself as he thought, _Now Curry, you'll see just who has all the power here. In no time at all, you'll be just like the rest, weak and meek._

Munch directed L1314 to place the hose from the pump into the tub and fill it to the brim. Next the two guards forcibly sat L1314 in the chair, tightened the straps over his forearms and his shins and locked them into place. A leather strap was buckled tightly across his chest, holding the Kid to the chair back. Two halves of a large wooden shallow bowl with a hole cut-out in the middle were slotted in the frame from the front and back to encircle Curry's neck. This caused him to sit as straight up as he could to keep the edges of the neck hole from cutting into the tender skin under his chin. Water slowly leaked from the tub onto L1314's bald head, down his face and neck, soaking into his soiled prison uniform.

"The shower chair is an interesting and little-used discipline device. We have the warden to thank for suggesting the appropriateness for this case. It took Riggs awhile to locate the chair in the storeroom but I'm sure you will agree in the end, it was worth the effort. O'Reilly and Stevens, I don't think you have ever seen this used before so you may stay to watch." Captain Munch explained as he supervised the preparation.

"Riggs, you may control the flow. Start when you're ready," Munch said, as if he were granting Riggs an honor.

Riggs took hold of the sliding board along the tub bottom and slid it halfway out. Ice-cold water began to flow freely in a steady stream onto the Kid's head. The volume of water in-flowing was greater than the volume that could escape from the narrow opening between the bowl encircling Curry's neck and his skin. Water started to collect in the bowl. The level of water steadily rose and Curry tilted his head back as far as he could, stretched his neck and tried to adjust his position to keep his mouth above the water line.

Riggs played with the rate of inflow, giving L1314 small respites from straining to maintain at least his nose out of the water. Curry started to shiver from the icy water now collecting around his head and neck then thoroughly soaking his body, before running across the sloped stone floor and down the room's drain.

The water kept coming as one of the guards steadily replenished the tub's supply. After about ten minutes, L1314's movements started to become sluggish. His shoulders slumped and his eyes started to blink slowly. When his nose and mouth slipped below the water line in the bowl full alertness returned along with sputtering, coughing and swallowing of water.

O'Reilly turned to Stevens next to him and muttered, "They're drowning him before our very eyes."Stevens turned to look at his friend with wide horrified eyes and whispered back, "It sure looks like it, and it looks like they're having fun doing it, too."

Munch caught the mutterings but not the words and inquired, "You two have any questions? You want to have a go?"

"No. No, we're fine watching. Let Riggs have his due. Thank you captain," O'Reilly replied hurriedly and hoped he looked convincingly unaffected.

The guards watched L1314's body shiver uncontrollably now. The prisoner's lips were tinged blue and it looked as if he would lose consciousness at any moment. Captain Munch gave the signal to stop pumping more water into the reservoir. Riggs looked at the half-conscious drenched man strapped in the chair gasping for air and slowly withdrew the front section of the bowl an inch or two from the slats. Water flowed faster through the now larger neck opening. When the water stopped completely, Riggs removed the front half of the neck bowl completely. Curry slumped down as far as the restraints would allow, chest heaving with the effort to draw breath.

"O'Reilly and Stevens get him out of here and back to his cell," Munch ordered.

Munch strode out of the shower room. O'Reilly and Stevens, fumbled to release the restraints. The two guards pulled Curry from the chair and hurried to drag him out of there and back to his cell The inmate's weak-sounding, wet coughts could be heard echoing down the hallway. The remaining guards started to take apart the device.

Riggs stood apart and watched in satisfaction. He expected L1314 would not need further correction to adopt the appropriate submissive attitude. The prisoner was put in his place, of that he was sure.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

 _ **Late September 1883**_

Three weeks, two profitable poker games and one quick job after Heyes arrived in Red Rock, Texas, he stood once again on the train platform. He was on his way to San Francisco to stay with Silky and visit with Soapy. On the way, he planned to stop in Denver.

Mac had solicited advice from his acquaintances regarding lawyers. Mr. Peterson, the banker, recommended a well-known reputable large law firm in Denver. Heyes had also received a telegram from Lom with the name of an attorney in Cheyenne and another who had practiced in Cheyenne but relocated to Denver. It was with hope in his heart that he bid goodbye to Big Mac.

"Heyes, if you need anything, you know where to find me. Let me know what the law firm says. Keep in touch. Don't you worry, we'll get Thaddeus out of that prison" Big Mac insisted as he pumped Heyes' hand when the train pulled into the station.

"Thanks, Mac. I'll let you know when progress is made to free your nephew," Heyes promised chuckling as he stepped up into the car.

* * *

Heyes, dressed in his favorite and only brown suit and derby, stood in front of an impressive stone building with a fancy metal-engraved sign in the best part of Denver's business district. The sign announced the offices of Dunn, Weber, Koster & Associates, Attorneys at Law. He took a deep breath, banished the butterflies in his stomach and opened the impressive heavy wood and glass door. Heyes found himself in a large reception area with red and gold striped upholstered furniture, potted plants and a large wooden reception desk. The pretty young woman sitting behind the desk, dressed in gray with dark hair in a bun, looked up from her work and focused on Heyes.

"May I help you sir?"

"Yes, you may. I wish to speak with one of your attorneys regarding a legal matter," Heyes answered, giving the girl his best dimpled smile.

"Do you have an appointment Sir?" the young women answered professionally.

"No, but I have a recommendation from Mr. Peterson, a friend of Patrick McCreedy from Texas." Heyes' smile did not falter.

"Mr. Dunn himself usually handles Mr. Peterson's affairs but he is completely booked for several weeks. Do you wish to wait for him or another one of the partners? I will be happy to arrange an appointment," The woman inquired as she opened a large leather-bound appointment book.

"I wish to see the first available attorney. When would the first opening be ma'am?" Heyes asked, his smile slipping.

"Let's see. One of the junior associates has an hour free a week from Thursday at 3:00pm; if you care to give me your name, I will be happy to pencil you in sir." She looked up at Heyes expectantly.

"Nothing sooner, ma'am?" Heyes tried to lean over and look at her book.

"I am afraid not, Sir, but if it is a legal emergency perhaps I can talk to Mr. Dunn about squeezing you in somewhere." She closed the book abruptly and looked up at Heyes.

"No, it is not an emergency. Thank you anyway. I have to check my calendar as to my availability next Thursday, miss. Thank you for your help, I'll get back to you." Heyes gave a practiced smile once more and turned to leave the building, not showing the deep disappointment he felt.

* * *

Heyes stood in front of a newly-built brick building with a modestly engraved brass plaque in the fast-growing middle class commercial district of Denver. The sign announced the office of Mr. R. Nickersen. Esq. Heyes looked at Lom's telegram in his hand and compared the name to the brass plaque. This appeared to be the correct lawyer. It was late afternoon and Heyes was debating whether to try now or wait till the next morning. He finally decided he had nothing to lose; by putting it off he would only worry about the outcome all night. With a deep breath, he turned the handle of the solid wood door and entered the modest, comfortable reception area. A middle-aged woman dressed in a navy-blue suit and white shirtwaist looked to the door as she finished tidying up her desk before leaving.

"Can I help you Sir?" She asked kindly, tucking a stray strand of graying dark hair behind her ear.

"Yes, I was hoping to see Mr. Nickersen regarding a legal matter or make an appointment for the first available time, ma'am." Heyes answered back, giving her his most charming smile.

"We are closed for this evening but if you give me a minute to retrieve my appointment book, I'll see what I can do for you." She smiled back and opened a desk drawer, taking out the appointment book.

"Thank you ma'am, I appreciate your help" Heyes smile became genuine as he hoped she really could help.

The inner office door on the right opened and a large sandy-haired man in his mid-forties walked out, knocking his portfolio into the door jam. Startled, the woman dropped her appointment book, Heyes bent over to retrieve it from the floor and they both turned towards the sound.

"Oh, excuse me, I didn't know anyone was still here. I'm Richard Nickersen. I take it Estelle is helping you, Mr.?"

"Heyes. I'm Hannibal Heyes, Mr. Nickersen. Estelle is very kindly staying to find the first appointment that you have open." Heyes straightened up and offered his right hand.

Richard Nickersen took Heyes' hand in his own large hand and vigorously shook it. "The Hannibal Heyes, the Hannibal Heyes that recently received amnesty from the Governor of Wyoming? Are you in legal trouble, Mr. Heyes?"

"Yes, Sir, I'm that Hannibal Heyes." Heyes smiled and continued, "I don't know of any other Hannibal Heyseses and no, I didn't come for myself but for my partner, Jedediah Curry." Heyes waited with baited breath and watched Nickersen closely to gauge his reaction.

"Estelle, thank you, you can go now. I'll see you in the morning. I'll take care of Mr. Heyes," Nickerson said with a beaming smile as he dropped his portfolio onto Estelle's desk.

"Well, well, this is an unexpected end to the day. Tell me, Mr. Heyes, do you have dinner plans for this evening? My wife is a wonderful cook and goes to the trouble to cook for me. I like to go to the trouble to eat it hot. We would love to have you join us for dinner; then after dinner we can discuss your and your partner's problem. The problem, I assume, that you want to discuss is Mr. Curry's lifetime prison term. Am I correct?"

Heyes nodded affirmatively but before he could say a word the lawyer continued.

"Before you give me your answer, I must confess my twelve-year-old son, Tommy, has every dime novel ever written about Hannibal Heyes, Kid Curry and the Devil's Hole Gang. Having you over for dinner will make his day but you will have to put up with ten million questions until we can sequester ourselves in my study. Otherwise, I can fit you in tomorrow afternoon." Nickersen leaned back against his receptionist's desk and waited for Heyes' answer.

"Mr. Nickersen, please call me Heyes, not mister and yes, I would love to join you and your family for dinner. And, yes, I do want to discuss Kid's legal options." Heyes replied sincerely, while he thought of appropriate stories for the son of the attorney he wanted to hire for Kid.

"Richard, is that you? Please call the children. I'll have dinner on the table in just a minute." A pleasant voice called out from the back of the neat residence.

A plump, smiling, blonde woman in her late thirties walked into the parlor, pulling off her soiled apron.

"Heyes, I would like you to meet my wife, Audrey. Audrey, this is Hannibal Heyes. I have invited him to join us for dinner." Richard Nickersen performed the introductions then moved to the bottom of the staircase calling for the children.

Audrey Nickersen looked both delighted and astonished at her husband's dinner guest. "Pleased to meet you, Mr. Heyes. I'm sorry, I didn't know you would be joining us; dinner is rather ordinary tonight just roast beef, mashed potatoes, gravy, green beans and fresh bread. You're more than welcome though."

"Mrs. Nickersen, I don't often have the occasion to enjoy a home-cooked meal. Whatever you are serving will be just fine. Thank you for having me, ma'am" Heyes sought to put her at ease as the family moved into the dining room.

* * *

Dinner was a pleasant and animated affair. Richard and Audrey Nickersen sat at opposite ends of the dining room table. The two girls, Adele, fifteen, and Florence, ten, sat across from Heyes. Tommy, age twelve, sat himself next to Heyes and was in seventh heaven. One of his dime novel heroes was actually in his home eating dinner next to him! Richard Nickersen certainly knew his son; the boy asked one question after another. Dinner conversation was filled with the family exchange of news from their day and Heyes told a story or two of his and Kid's adventures while pursuing amnesty. The children were excused while Audrey cleaned off the table and prepared coffee and dessert.

Heyes and Richard waited in the front parlor making small talk, saving the business discussion for after dessert.

"Mr. Heyes, Mr. Heyes, this is my latest, can you please sign it for me? No one will believe me if you don't. Please Mr. Heyes. You think up the cleverest robberies and plan every detail so there are no surprises. You're a genius! Can you get Kid Curry to sign it, too? He's the Fastest Gun in the West, you know. He can run along the top of trains and surprise the engineers, hold off rival gangs with his gun and he's so good no one ever gets hurt. Here, Mr. Heyes, please sign the cover." Tommy thrust his latest dime novel at Heyes while studiously ignoring his father's disapproving look.

Heyes looked down at the small paper book being held in front of him- _Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry in the Train Robbery at Snake Eyes Bend: Rival Gangs Ride for Revenge._ Sheesh, and they say I have a vivid imagination he thought, not for the first time.

"I'll be happy to autograph your book, Tommy, and I am hoping your father can help arrange it so that Kid Curry can sign it too. You do know that these stories aren't the truth though, right?" Heyes said sadly as he took the book being offered.

"I know Mr. Heyes. It says that they are based on fact but as the author wasn't there, some parts might not be the absolute truth," Tommy replied solemnly.

"Tommy, please leave Mr. Heyes alone and come sit back down at the table," Audrey admonished the boy as she appeared in the doorway. "Dessert and coffee is served."

Heyes stared down at the generous slice of blueberry pie put before him. _Pie, Kid loves pie, blueberry, his favorite. It's a safe bet he isn't getting any pie in prison. Probably not getting any kind of dessert or a nice roast beef dinner either. I wonder what he is getting. If it is enough?_ "

Mr. Heyes are you all right? If you don't like blueberry pie, I can offer you something else."

Heyes looked up to see Audrey and Richard Nickersen studying him, Audrey absently licking blueberry off the side of her finger.

"Mrs. Nickersen, I'm fine, I like blueberry pie; it's just that it reminded me of my partner. Blueberry pie is his favorite. I'm sorry what were you saying?"

The men took a second cup of coffee into Richard Nickersen's study. The fire was already burning steadily in the fireplace lending pleasant warmth to the masculine looking room. The attorney sat behind his desk and offered Heyes a comfortable armchair off to the side. He took a pad and pen from his desk drawer and the two men got down to business. If after their conversation this evening it was mutually agreeable to proceed, Heyes would stop by Nickersen's office tomorrow. Estelle would help him fill out the necessary paperwork and sign the appropriate forms to authorize the attorney to act in Jedediah Curry's behalf.

Heyes was very surprised at how the man was able to garner his trust so quickly. He found himself talking freely and honestly. He recounted briefly his and Kid's histories, not embellishing or making excuses. He touched on their happy childhoods on neighboring farms. He unemotionally discussed Valparaiso, how he coped by using his intelligence to nurture his larcenous and sneaky tendencies. With adult eyes, he was able to recognize that the staff had not been especially cruel and frugal but had been merely overwhelmed with the task of caring for increasingly large numbers of children with less and less funds. However, the young adolescents did not have the maturity to recognize reality.

Jed dealt less well with the loss of his large and loving family. He became angry and withdrawn, was eventually decreed too stupid and stubborn to learn and so was taken out of classes and assigned daily chores instead at the tender age of eleven. At the age of sixteen Heyes would be apprenticed out, a situation that was intolerable to both boys. They made the decision to leave when Heyes was fifteen. Heyes regretfully admitted that was probably their first big mistake.

He went on to describe their subsequent struggle to survive. The difficulty the two young adolescents encountered supporting themselves: the necessity to steal to survive, Jed's vow to protect them both with his natural talent honed by hours of practice, their reliance on dubious strangers for help and the mentorship of con-men. He talked about the burden he placed on himself of raising a child, acting as a father trying to control a wild and wayward teen and how eventually Jed and he reached a point where they needed to find their own way in the world.

Heyes stared in the flames of the fireplace and remembered the sense of relief of not having to have all the answers, not to always be in charge and of only having to worry about himself. He also vividly remembered the loneliness reminiscent, of which how he was feeling now. _Only the loneliness was worse now after so many more years of shared thrills, adventures, scares and struggles. When the big payoff occurred the one who he wanted to celebrate most with wasn't there. The one who understood the entire journey and what amnesty truly meant was locked in a cell hundreds of miles away._ Heyes gloomily dragged his eyes up to the lawyer's and continued.

Heyes went from dabbling in theft to a becoming a full-time professional thief, expert safe-cracker, and gang member eventually working himself up to gang leader. Jed, due to his youthful appearance, had a hard time finding work that would pay enough to sustain a growing young man. He eventually found employment in situations where his unique talent was needed. Kid had never outright told Heyes but over the years from comments here and there, Heyes surmised that Kid became a gunslinger, since at that point in his life, Kid didn't care if he lived or died. Kid eventually located Heyes, joined the Devil's Hole Gang and their exploits were reported in the newspapers.

Heyes didn't spend a lot of time on their life of crime; suffice to say that they were very good at it but both were becoming unhappy with the situation. He noted without excuses that they both knew what they were doing was wrong but Heyes could always find a rationalization to cling to. They both knew their lives were on a collision course with disaster. Death or imprisonment was only a matter of time. The Kid experienced anxiety that luck and skill would desert him and he would become a murderer, thoughts that even though he tried, he could not hide from Heyes. A little old lady from Boston handed Kid a way out. Lom Trevors and the governor threw them a lifeline that they clung to for over two years.

Heyes explained the trials and tribulations of living honestly while still being wanted. He finished with the incident at Impasse Mountain and the aftermath that led him to seek Nickersen's help. The normally reserved ex-outlaw needed help and put his faith in the man sitting spellbound across from him.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

 _ **October 1883**_

L1314 rolled over on the narrow cot in the middle of night as he listened to the thud of the guard's footsteps along the iron walkway. Five steps, pause, five steps, pause, five steps, pause, the pattern rarely varied. The light from the oil lantern nearing as the night guard peered into the cells. L1314 heard his neighbor, who he only knew as 151313, groan in pain and vomit into the cell's tin basin, which he had been doing since the prisoners were locked in for the night.

Footsteps thudded and stopped on cell block's iron walkway as the guard looked into the sick inmate's cell. The Kid waited to see if the guard would offer assistance, perhaps take the inmate to the prison infirmary. The pause was the usual length; no words were exchanged and then five steps, pause, the guard's eyes met Kid's. The Kid returned the guard's look with a stare of reproach. The guard broke eye contact and turned. Five steps, quick pause, five steps, quick pause, the routine continued as the cell block dimmed until the next round.

Kid knew from more than a few sleepless nights since his incarceration that the interval between the guard's rounds could be anywhere from approximately fifteen minutes up to about an hour. Curry decided to take a risk and rose quietly from his cot to glide over to the front corner of his cell closest to his neighbor, trying to keep the leg irons as quiet as he could.

"Hey, 151313. Tap the wall if you can hear me," Curry whispered as loud as he dared. A dull tap confirmed his effort at contact.

"We have at least a few minutes before the guard starts his rounds again. Are you going to be all right until morning? Give one tap for yes and two for no."

The answer Kid received was a longer groan and what sounded like dry heaves. Kid was just opening his mouth to whisper when he heard another faint tap from the other side of the wall.

"Do you still have water in your cell? Try to take a sip when you can. If you need me to call for a guard tap three times on the wall. I'll hear you. By the way, I'm Curry. In the morning once they see how sick you've been, they should get you help, let you go to sick call."

A weak raspy voice whispered back, "Everyone knows who you are Curry. Here, in the Warden's words, they don't coddle prisoners. Munch won't let me see the doc yet. You're taking a big risk talking. Don't risk it again. Thought you'd know by now, the only one to watch your back is yourself."

"Don't worry about me, I've been taking risks for so long now I'm used playing the odds," Curry whispered as he slowly turned to move back to his cot, stepping carefully with his bare feet, the only sound was the chain scraping softly across the floor.

"The name's Lucas," drifted tentatively into the night.

"Good night, Lucas. Try to get some sleep if you can."

The Kid couldn't see but in the next cell Lucas smiled to himself. It had been a long time since anyone wished him goodnight and the momentary casual human connection felt good.

* * *

L1314 was washed, dressed, cot made and was standing at attention when Riggs opened the cell door in the morning. The Kid stepped out of the cell, turned and looked hard at Lucas before placing his right hand on Lucas's shoulder. Kid could see that his neighbor was pale, sweaty, and could feel him sway beneath his hand as he tightened his grip on the man's shoulder, steadying him as they moved forward in lockstep. The North Wing, third tier cell block prisoner line was standing still, waiting for the heavy iron portal door to the stairway to be unlocked, when 151313's knees suddenly buckled beneath him. L1314 caught him and bent forward to try to ease the man to the floor. L1314 straightened when Riggs prodded him with the lash handle and an order to stay in formation.

O'Reilly and a short stocky guard Kid didn't know starting moving the prisoners, still in lockstep formation, against the wall as they made their way to the back of the line. One other guard remained at the front of the line.

"Get up now," Riggs barked at the downed inmate as he booted him in the side. 151313 groaned and made an attempt to rise but fell back in a heap on the walkway. Riggs gave another kick and started to lift his arm to strike with the ever-present lash. The Kid stepped out of line, placed himself in front of Lucas and with his legendary quick reflexes grabbed Riggs' right wrist in mid strike.

"He needs a doctor, not a beating! He's been sick all night, ask the night guard! Not that the guard did anything about it, though. You have to be blind not to see that he's still too sick to work today! You should be taking him to the infirmary not kicking him when he's down! You do want him to be able to be a productive member of society, right, well he can't produce anything like that!" Kid shouted in Riggs' face. A sudden unnatural quiet descended as everyone waited to see what the Riggs would do.

Riggs' fleshy face turned a shade of dark purple as he stared at Kid in disbelief while he tried to wrench his right hand from Curry's strong grip. Curry stared back with a lack of expression that would have been familiar to many a gunfight challenger while he slowly and deliberately loosened his hold on Riggs' wrist.

Riggs' voice shook with anger as he sought to regain authoritative control. "Step back Cur…L1314 and face the cells. O'Reilly, put 151313 back in his cell. Baker, you and the guy at the front get this line moving to breakfast, then work." The cell block line started forward and down the stairs without the last two inmates.

Curry turned to face the cells and when he shuffled past O'Reilly, muttered under his breath, "You'll need my help to get him back to his cell; ask Riggs to make me help carry him."

O'Reilly glanced up, took the measure of the prisoner breaking the rules to speak to him, tallied it with all he had seen and knew about Kid Curry and called out to Riggs, "Riggs, this convict is heavy, since L1314 is so concerned, make him carry most of the weight and do most of the work."

Riggs nodded his reluctant assent. Curry positioned himself behind Lucas and slipped his arms around Lucas's chest while O'Reilly grabbed the sick inmate's legs. Together they managed to deposit 151313 on his cot. O'Reilly kept his back to the cell door and caught L1314's eye over the prone prisoner's body and silently mouthed "thanks". Curry slightly inclined his head in acknowledgement then he exited the small cell.

While O'Reilly turned to lock the heavy cell door, Riggs grabbed Curry by the arm and slammed him face first into the wall, pinning him against the rough stones with his considerable weight. Curry's wrists were wrenched behind his back and cuffed. Riggs spun the Kid around to face him, taking note with satisfaction the blood starting to drip from Curry's nose and collecting in the hairs of his unkempt mustache. Several small abrasions along the left side of his face created gaps in the Kid's scraggly beard.

"Don't ever touch a guard, don't ever raise your voice to a guard; in fact, no one asked you to open your mouth. No one ever needs to know your opinion. Your thoughts are totally worthless. Do you understand convict?"

"Yes. Sir." Curry grudgingly responded through bloodied lips, blue eyes narrowed in anger as he fought to control his temper.

Riggs, still fuming, punctuated his ongoing tirade by repeated hard pokes to the Kid's chest with the lash handle.

"This isn't the first time either. Apparently, you are a slow learner. Warden Hardston and Captain Munch will ensure you learn your lesson this time, convict."

* * *

L1314 stood, outwardly calm and composed, between the still irate Riggs and O'Reilly, who remained neutral, before Warden Hardston's desk. Captain Munch stood at the side of the desk staring at the Kid with a mixture of contempt and anticipation.

The warden sat back in his comfortable chair, tented his fingers before him and pronounced his judgment, "L1314, the facts are indisputable. You are aware of the rules governing this institution. You have violated those rules. You are aware of your place within this institution. The reason for your actions is inconsequential. You will suffer the consequences of your wrongful actions and perhaps in the future you will learn to live within society's expectations. You are hereby sentenced to five stokes of the cat for talking and five strokes of the whip for insubordination and assault and battery against a guard. Since your infractions were witnessed by your fellow inmates, your punishment will be witnessed also. Captain Munch, please secure the prisoner and administer the sentence at the appropriate time. Dismissed."

The three guards led L1314 down corridors and through gates until arriving at the portal to the enclosed prison yard. As the small procession stepped outside, Curry couldn't help but relish his first breath of fresh air since his first week of imprisonment. To the left of the entrance stood two tall poles with two metal rings fixed three-quarters of the way up each pole on each side. A length of thick rough rope dangled from each ring. There was a large hook on a third side of the pole. Riggs removed the handcuffs. L1314 was instructed to remove his shirt, place it on the first pole's hook, and then stand facing the pole on the side opposite the hook. With the rope dangling from the rings, Riggs tied the Kid's wrists tightly, pulled the rope taut and secured it so Kid's arms were stretched straight up on each side of the pole. The guards' task finished for the moment, they turned to leave without further words. O'Reilly risked a surreptitious glance over his shoulder before crossing the threshold into the dark confines of the prison. He wondered if Curry knew what he was in for; would he have acted the same way this morning? He doubted it; most prisoners learned pretty quick how to keep out of trouble and Curry wasn't stupid.

* * *

L1314 stood secured to the pole; the feel of the warm autumn sun on his bare back and the fresh air the only consolation in his predicament. The hours slipped slowly by as thirst and hunger built along with trepidation in Curry's mind. His wrists became chaffed then burned from the rope. He intermittently flexed his fingers to keep the circulation going but despite his best efforts, tingling and numbness set in. He rested by leaning against the pole until the ache in his shoulders and arms became intolerable, forcing him to stand straight for long periods of time. He was exhausted before his ordeal even began. In the late afternoon, a guard brought out a bucket filled with saltwater, the handle of a cat-of-nine-tails sticking out the top, and a long, coiled bullwhip, which he hung from the hook so that the prisoner could see the whip tail flutter in the warm breeze.

The sound of many footsteps moving in lockstep startled the Kid to attention. Curry was able to glance over his shoulder to glimpse the inmates forming in lines directly behind him. The guards patrolled the formation while Munch stood beside the whipping post and announced the sentence. The guard captain then bent to pick the cat out of the bucket, saltwater dripping from each of the leather tail end knots and held it front of L1314's face.

The Kid struggled to remain calm, controlling his breathing and vowed to follow through on the promise he made to himself in the morning. No matter how painful it became, he would not give the guards the satisfaction of crying out.

The first blow caught him along the right shoulder, the tails wrapping around to strike at his ribs and over the top of his shoulder at his collar bone, to cause bruises along with the welts. His hands and jaw clenched tight in response. The quick second and third blows sent fiery stings across his mid and lower back, the knots hitting his ribs on his left then his right. The fourth strike was the first to break the skin and trickles of blood started to form.

Munch paused before he delivered the fifth strike, causing Kid to involuntarily flinch and twist in his bonds. Munch stepped up to the post, grabbed the bullwhip and hung the now bloody cat-of-nine-tails on the hook over L1314's prison-striped shirt. Curry used the brief respite to take a few deep painful breaths, replant his feet and tighten his muscles. He felt the blood trickling down his back and down his arms from his now torn and bloody wrists and knew there was worse to come.

Munch stepped behind the prisoner, drew back his arm and expertly cracked the whip close to the Kid's right ear in a warm-up swing. The guards laughed as Curry reflexively threw back his head and arched his back. The watching prisoners maintained their silence, dull expressions on their faces. At least it isn't me was running through most of the inmate's minds. A few tried to look down but were struck if a guard noticed their eyes straying from the punishment being meted out.

Curry was unprepared for the viciousness of the bullwhip's strike, as the leather sliced a deep, bloody stripe diagonally across his upper back as efficiently as if Munch had used a carving knife. It took all of the Kid's self-control not to cry out in agony. The many small fires set by the cat blazed into a raging bonfire of intense heat. His fists clenched and unclenched, he bit the inside of his cheeks, tasting blood as again the second and third strikes came swiftly. Blood was no longer trickling but flowing freely down his back and sides mixing with streams of sweat soaking into his pants. The only thing that registered in his mind was the flames running up, down and around his torso. The vicious cut of the fourth strike caused his knees to collapse and he hung solely by his wrists. He was panting now, eyes tightly closed against the salty sting of sweat. The final strike sliced his back open from left shoulder to right waist. Curry finally lost control and a low moan issued from his parched and swollen lips as his head hung down to rest on his slick chest.

Munch picked up the bucket and dumped the saltwater over the L1314's stubbled head to run down his damaged body, adding fuel to the inferno already burning. Curry lost his tenuous grasp on consciousness as he hung from the whipping post in a puddle of red-tinged water.

The public punishment completed, the guards began moving the watching prisoners inside. The inmates' lockstep smeared the droplets of L1314's blood sprayed by the whip into the dusty hard ground.

* * *

Lucas stretched over the top of his cot as close to the bars as he could, holding on for support. He anxiously gauged the light in the walkway, listened for the guards-footsteps and whispered for the fifth time this night, "Curry, Curry, if you can hear me make a noise. Don't talk. The guard will be coming soon. I need to know if you're alive. It's been hours since they brought you back."

The Kid was drifting in dream of heat and flames, trying to find a way out. A voice he could barely hear kept calling his name. It wasn't Heyes, though, so he ignored the voice; only Heyes could get him out. Heyes was always there to help. Where was Heyes? The voice didn't give up and called again.

Curry slowly regained consciousness to find he was back in his cell lying face down on his cot, arms at his side, the left one dangling down and resting on the hard floor, his shirt still off. He tried to raise his head but the movement renewed his torment. He let his head drop back down and stilled his body. The voice, was it Lucas, wanted him to respond. Kid was unable to gather the energy to cough; a low soft moan came out instead.

"Thanks for what you did. I saw the doc. No one ever cared. I'm sorry for…" Lucas stopped and scooted back to lie completely on the cot.

L1314 heard five steps, pause, five steps, pause, watched it become a little lighter as the guard made his way to the end of the cell block. The Kid knew there would be no help forthcoming and anger burned within him as the welts, lacerations, rope burns and bruises scorched the outside.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

 _ **October 1883**_

Heyes filed the necessary paperwork, paid the fee to retain Richard Nickersen as the Kid's attorney and found himself temporarily employed by the attorney. As long as Heyes was on his way to San Francisco, Nickersen thought he could use a man with Heyes' experience and intelligence to locate a missing person another client was concerned with and who was thought to be in the California city. Heyes could save Nickersen from hiring a Bannerman man and Heyes would make some honest money to supplement his poker playing.

Heyes' first order of business after he left Denver was a detour to Laramie, Wyoming. He told no one of his plans as he was sure everyone would try to talk him out of visiting the Kid in prison. Heyes knew his friends were only looking out for his welfare but it hurt to think how readily most were willing to give up on the Kid in the name of being realistic; no one seemed to think the infamous gunman would ever see freedom again. He found out the last Sunday of the month was visiting day. In his misery and shock of August's events his thinking had been muddled and he missed his opportunity. He was not going to miss the last Sunday in September.

Unfortunately, he arrived at the imposing brick and stone edifice and conquered his anxiety, only to be told that inmate Curry's visitor's privileges were revoked. No further explanations were given despite Heyes most persuasive manner and his willingness to ignore multiple muttered snide remarks. It was with profound disappointment and a renewed sense of loss that Heyes boarded yet another train.

* * *

The train journey to San Francisco was uneventful. Silky and Soapy were glad to see him and eager to celebrate Heyes' amnesty. The first few days were spent dragging Heyes, despite his protests, in rounds of wining, dining, poker playing and other diversions. It took the better part of two weeks to locate and report back to Nickersen the whereabouts of the no-longer missing man. Heyes no longer had constant activity to distract him and found himself being reminded of the Kid every day. There was always some connection in evidence; their lives were so intertwined for so long it seemed impossible separate his memories from the man.

Silky heard the door slam shut as Heyes entered the Nob Hill mansion. He waited to see if Heyes would join him or stalk upstairs. The last few days, Heyes had seemed moodier and moodier but Silky couldn't get him to open up. The old con man had a deep affection for Heyes and knew he was having difficulty adjusting to life without his gunslinging cousin by his side. He understood the reason, knew the two had a strong bond between them. He wanted to help Heyes move on with his life; after all, it was not as if Heyes had never contemplated life without Curry given the partner's lifestyle. Heyes entered the library to find Silky waiting for him.

"How was the poker, Heyes?" Silky asked, to start conversation.

"Came out moderately ahead, more like how the Kid would do. I have the magic in the high stakes games but in the saloon games I can't seem to concentrate on just the cards. I don't think I ever really understood what Kid's presence did for my playing. I mean, I played close cards when we separated for some reason or another and I know I didn't usually win as much in those games when he wasn't around but I'm not wanted now. I don't have to watch out for sheriffs, bounty hunters or someone trying to shoot me in the back but I damn near got involved in a gunfight this afternoon over a thirty dollar pot; it scared the hell out of me. Silky, I miss him and not just because of his gun." Heyes sat heavily down on the couch and pushed his too-long brown hair off his forehead, avoiding Silky's gaze. Silky took a deep breath and gathered his thoughts. Heyes had just provided him with the opening he had been waiting for, although, he expected the conversation to be unpleasant and uncomfortable for them both. Silky was determined to be honest for what he hoped was Heyes' own good.

"I know you miss him, Heyes. Kid's an easy man to miss. But haven't you thought about life without him around? I mean, Kid Curry is a gunman, the "Fastest Gun in the West", a walking target for every other gunman out to make a name for himself. He has already lived longer than someone with his reputation can expect. He was living on borrowed time, the two of you know that. You must have reconciled yourself to the eventuality of his violent death either by a bullet or a noose. There are old con men but I have yet to meet an old gunslinger," Silky stated bluntly, steadily looking straight in Heyes' face.

Heyes sat open-mouthed, not knowing whether to be angry, defensive or simply astounded at Silky's words. "No, Silky, I've lived in fear that Kid would be killed in a gunfight or that some bounty hunter, posse or lawman, because of his reputation, won't even try to take him alive but I try not to dwell on it." He finally found his voice to whisper huskily back.

"The gun just causes trouble. It's why he's in prison and you are not. I'm not surprised that the governor held up your amnesty because of the Kid's reputation. I'm sorry about that, Heyes, I really am. I sincerely wish that the two of you were sitting here free but I'm not surprised it's just you that's here. The Kid did the right thing. I know you're having trouble accepting that, but he was right. Staying together, running like you were, would have eventually caused your death as well as his. You know, you could've had a great career as a con-man. Wouldn't have wound up with a ten-thousand-dollar dead or alive reward on your head as a con-man. Con-men have no need for guns but your cousin was just too attached to that Colt he wore and he's paying the price now."

Heyes' astonishment of the conversation's direction was now turning to anger. He could chastise the Kid but no one else could and definitely not when Kid wasn't there to defend himself. Heyes was having trouble understanding why Silky was saying these things.

"Kid could work the con. He has worked the con successfully. You, Soapy, Diamond Jim and the others just never looked beyond the gun to give him the chance. Kid's skill with the Colt has kept me alive more times than I can count and even has kept you con-men alive a few times so don't tell me the six-gun hasn't come in handy. Besides, I never would have stayed a con-man forever. I'm the larcenous one. I dragged him into big-time thievery. There's nothing sweeter than hearing the last tumbler fall into place and unlatching the handle on a supposedly impenetrable safe. I liked safe-cracking. I still like safe-cracking. I just like freedom more. I would like freedom best if my partner was free as well. I just retained an attorney for the Kid and I am going to work on getting him out of that prison even if it takes years. Silky, you can help me and accept my decision or we can say good-bye." Heyes rose to his feet, a deadly serious expression on his face, and waited for the old con-man's response.

"All right, Heyes, I'll drop the subject but I just didn't want you wallowing in misery if things don't work out the way you planned," Silky said in defeat.

"Things already haven't worked according to plan. I am miserable but I'll try not to wallow. The Kid is more miserable than me so I have no right wallowing." Heyes accepted Silky's indirect apology, knowing that the man was only trying to help. He pasted a small smile on face, gently slapped his old friend on back and added, "That reminds me; I am taking tomorrow afternoon's train back to Denver. Nickersen wired me he is ready to discuss our options for the Kid. He apparently received the papers he was waiting on from Wyoming."

Silky turned out the library lamp and the two friends ascended the stairs to the second floor, an understanding reached between them.

* * *

Richard Nickersen looked at the papers strewn across his desk, at the picture of his son amid the happy family sitting in a gold frame on the corner of his desk and finally at the haggard-looking dark-haired man expectantly sitting across from him. He took a deep breath and started to explain. "Heyes, you were granted amnesty by the Governor of Wyoming. The word amnesty comes from the Greek word amnestia, meaning oblivion. In law, this means that by an executive act that you were restored to a position of an innocent person. In other words, by granting you amnesty, it is as if you never committed any crimes. Amnesty obliterates all legal remembrance of offenses. Amnesty is no longer an option for Mr. Curry since he has already been convicted." Heyes nodded his understanding.

"I have here copies of documentation and records that I requested from Wyoming." The sandy-haired lawyer pointed to a pile of official documents perched on the left side of his desk. Heyes leaned a little closer to see what Nickersen was pointing at and picked the first few documents off the top of the pile.

"The governor and the attorney general's office prepared and executed an iron-clad legal action against your partner. All the t's are crossed and the i's are dotted. There are no legal loopholes, at least none that I can see, to attack. They left no grounds for a motion for mistrial. Your partner legally waived his right to a trial by jury. Grounds for appeal do not exist on any technicality and unless we have new evidence that will support Mr. Curry's innocence that avenue is closed as well." Nickerson watched Heyes shake his head as he deposited the papers he had been scanning back on the pile in the corner of Nickersen's desk.

"No, unfortunately, we're guilty as sin of the crimes he was convicted off and actually of some that aren't even mentioned," Heyes ruefully replied.

"Your partner obviously did not have legal advice or did not understand the consequences of what was happening."

Heyes interrupted, stood straight up from his chair and fixed Nickersen with an intense serious stare. "Don't underestimate my partner, Richard. The reputation we have, that is me the brains and him the brawn, served its purpose, at times, but it's completely inaccurate. Kid Curry is a very smart man, not book smart but smart nonetheless. He knew exactly what he was doing and he knew the consequences. He did what he thought was best for me. He was wrong in his thinking but he was thinking."

"I know you said he knew what he was doing when you first told me your story. I just find it difficult to comprehend. I guess that part of the rumors is true then. Okay, please except my apology on behalf of your partner, Heyes. Shall we continue?"

Heyes sat back down and nodded for the other man to go on. "The only course of action I can see, and the one I am recommending is to pursue a presidential pardon. Unlike amnesty, which I explained previously is as if the crime was never committed, a pardon, is a forgiveness of a crime. The penalty for the crime is also mitigated. The constitution under Article II, Section 2, grants the President powers to grant reprieves and pardons. Now pardons are typically granted after a period of time, usually three to five years, after the sentence is completed. In addition to criminal penalties such as a prison term, a person who is convicted of a felony is subjected to civil penalties. These include: losing the right to vote, ineligibility to hold public office, the prohibition of obtaining various licenses or government benefits among other penalties. A pardon removes those civil penalties. However, it does not remove the conviction, only the penalties attached. A pardoned individual is still legally obligated to disclose his conviction when such notification is required. Since your partner is serving a life term we are also going to ask for a commutation of sentence, ideally to time served but at the very least a reduced sentence, otherwise he will not be eligible for a pardon. In theory, we could petition the Wyoming Territorial Governor for a commutation of sentence and pardon but given the circumstances surrounding Kid Curry's imprisonment, the likelihood of success is extremely low. A presidential petition is the only remaining viable option. Are you still with me, Heyes? You can ask questions now or wait until I explained the procedure for a pardon application. When I've explained the procedure, I want to outline what each of us can do and a general timeline for proceeding." Richard picked up a paper with his notes from a pile directly in front of him as he glanced at his client's reactions to what he was explaining. The attorney noted the look in those intelligent brown eyes that indicated that not only was Heyes taking in everything he said but his mind was racing ahead.

Richard Nickersen went on to explain that pardon applications were submitted to the Office of the Pardon Attorney for evaluation and recommendations before review by the President. The required areas covered in the petition were reasons for seeking a pardon, a listing of convictions and arrest record, a minimum of three character references using official affidavit forms and additional letters of recommendation. Additional material that could help support the petition were civil and economic concerns, such as did the petitioner have a place of residence, a guarantee of occupation or economic support and were there civil or religious organizations to sponsor and guide the petitioner if the pardon were granted. When he was finished, Heyes asked pertinent questions that reinforced the attorney's instincts that he wanted to help this duo. The two men formulated a plan of action.

Heyes would gather the affidavits of character and solicit letters of recommendation. He would also start to think about a permanent place of residence and an occupation for the Kid and himself.

"I guess I better find something more respectable than professional poker player by the time we're ready to submit the Kid's application," Heyes remarked in jest.

Nickersen chuckled and replied, "I think maybe you should. Maybe I can help with that also."

Nickersen would start to complete the pardon application. They would periodically meet to update each other on their progress. Nickersen also would write to the Wyoming Territorial Prison for a date and time to visit his client and would notify Heyes when permission was granted.

Evening had arrived by the time the two men finished their planning. Nickersen inquired if Heyes would be available for occasional investigative or security jobs for him and some of his colleagues. He was very impressed with how quickly Heyes had completed the previous job. Upon Heyes' affirmative answer, he passed Heyes a business card of a friend who had need of a discreet investigator. Heyes promised to stop by the potential employer's office in the morning. They could hear Estelle in the outer office starting to tidy up the reception area and her desk in preparation for leaving. Heyes stood to take his leave when Nickersen hastily caught his attention.

"Please forgive me, Heyes, I was supposed to invite you for dinner tonight but it slipped my mind earlier; please join us. Audrey will never forgive me if she found out I was neglectful in my social obligations. I am sure she has been cooking all day. No pie, I think she was making a cake. Does your partner like cake?"

Heyes smiled back at Nickersen "My partner likes all food, cake included. I have no dinner plans so I would be delighted to dine with your family again. I'll have to think of a few more exciting non-criminal stories for Tommy on the way over." A fleeting wistful expression passed quickly over Heyes' face before returning to the pleasant public façade.

"Heyes, I think Kid Curry has a good chance of being granted a pardon but it will take time, maybe months, most likely years. Public opinion was generally positive regarding your amnesty; President Chester A. Arthur is from New York, not the west and is from Irish descent, which may be a subtlehelp; you have some influential persons in responsible occupations as friends for the affidavits. Mr. McCreedy, Sheriff Lom Trevors, Judge Hanley and the Bannerman detective, I forgot his name, might be good choices to start with. Keep your hope alive but don't let this consume you as I said, the process may take longer than you wish. Live your life for now," Nickersen said kindly as he ushered Heyes out of his office and into the waiting carriage.

Heyes could wait; as long as things kept proceeding he would wait patiently for the time when the Kid was where he belonged, right beside him. He hoped the Kid could wait as well. He tried to shake the feeling that the pardon process was going to be a race against time. Heyes knew his partner and his cousin's thoughts about prison. He prayed he was right and the Kid was wrong, that there would be opportunities to make the time less hard and Curry would learn to survive and more importantly would want to survive.

Heyes suddenly broke into a grin when all of Nickersen's words registered. Harry Briscoe as a responsible influential person completing an affidavit of character for Jedediah Curry?


	10. Chapter 10

**_Warning:_** _This chapter contains some violence and a short explicit description of a non-consensual adult encounter._

 _ **November 22, 1883**_

Late afternoon at the prison broom factory, located in the Prison Industries Building, was a busy place. Inmates strove to fulfill their quotas by the time the quitting time bell was rung. Each inmate was absorbed in their own separate tasks. Verbal communication was limited to as few words as necessary. The guards who were stationed around the large cavernous space congregated in small groups in between their walks between the factory stations. The guard who acted as the factory foreman was a stern but fair taskmaster and as long as everyone behaved themselves, there were no rule violations and the production was on schedule, he was satisfied. At present, he sat at his high stool behind the elevated desk, surveying the factory floor and was a happy man.

The reason for his happiness perplexed him though. The foreman/guard watched the object of his attention though the soft rays of the late afternoon sun streaming though the large west windows. Prisoner L1314 was limited to light duty for medical reasons. As the inmate could read and write and contrary to his public reputation, the marshal service reported him to be above average in intelligence, L1314 was assigned to shipping chores. For the last four weeks, L1314 checked production levels and submitted figures to the foreman. He made out the shipping labels, assigned carrier routes and boxed the brooms according to the outgoing orders. He performed his tasks efficiently and correctly after minimal instruction. L1314 saved the foreman and one of the other guards from constantly having to check and redo the assigned work. The foreman was going miss L1314 when his welts were sufficiently healed for general duty.

One week ago L1314 had suggested a minor change in the steps and arrangement of the production line. This would minimize unnecessary work by the inmate workers with the added benefit of requiring less time to manufacture each broom. The foreman had listened and even though Munch, who had been present at the time, was against it, the changes were made. The improvements L1314 suggested had worked according to plan. What perplexed the foreman was why L1314 was even thinking in terms of efficiency, and that he had the confidence to ask to speak. Since the change was made and the foreman had not yet raised the quota, the factory workers met it each day without a struggle.

Kid struggled daily with the anger raging within his soul. Anger at the unfairness of his situation, although he accepted his responsibility for its making. Anger at the loneliness that filled his nights even though he was surrounded by men. Anger that the one person who understood him was lost to him forever. Anger at the purposefully dehumanizing treatment the prisoners were subjected to. The Kid found some small comfort in the thought that Heyes would be proud of him.

Curry remembered that as a young man, his anger had driven his best friend away and caused a rift that had taken years to repair, along with serious consequences for both him and Heyes. He had always wondered if he hadn't been so angry, if he hadn't been so much of a burden to look after, maybe things would have been different. Curry had learned to master his anger, with Heyes' influence and help as he matured, learned to harness it for constructive resolutions. Anger had allowed him to place one foot after another on a long trek out of the desert when the odds were against them making it. Anger was now giving him the strength to get up each day and prove to the bastards running the prison he was not among the dregs of society, a useless, brainless, gunslinging criminal. He was, in fact, a better man than most of the so-called protectors of society that guarded him and certainly a better man than Captain Munch.

L1314 was aware as he performed his assigned duties that he was being overtly observed by the guards and covertly watched by the inmates. It was one of the harder things to get used to in prison along with no privacy, inadequate quantity and quality of food, hard lumpy beds, scratchy uncomfortable clothing, no baths, not being able to shave but having your head shaved, not talking, no control of your own life, long work days, unrelenting boredom in the tiny cell at night, not being able to walk normally because your ankles were chained together all the time; the list was endless, he realized. The constant scrutiny during the day made it hard to initiate the human contact Kid craved. He tried at every stolen opportunity to make eye contact with a fellow convict and duplicate on some level the nonverbal connection he had with his partner. As he counted Miller's brooms, with whom he had shared a long, hot, depressing ride to Laramie, Curry caught his eye, gave a barely perceptible nod in greeting and a wink that only Miller could see before moving on to the next station. He was unaware of the conversation the three guards in the far corner were having regarding him.

"Hope you enjoyed your change of scenery, O'Reilly; I hear Curry's gonna see the doc tomorrow and will probably be cleared for general duty by Monday. You can be sure if that happens Munch will have your boy back on piss pot duty. You will have to breathe through your mouth again." Baker, a regular North Wing guard, remarked to O'Reilly and Stevens.

"Yeah, those welts on his back sure took a long time to heal. How did you finally get Riggs to lay off whacking him with the lash handle?" Stevens inquired of O'Reilly.

O'Reilly testily whispered back, "In the first place, Curry is not my boy. I don't ask to be assigned to guard him. I didn't get Riggs to lay off him; actually, Munch did, he wants to get Curry back to piss-pots as soon as possible. You know the doc, he doesn't tolerate any malingering but he also takes proper care of his patients and the doc wouldn't clear him until there were no open wounds no matter how much Munch pushed."

"Munch was sure annoyed the other day. I thought steam would come out of his ears when L1314 made that suggestion and the foreman actually agreed. It didn't help matters that Curry was right. Curry better watch it around Munch. He has it out for him, now more than ever," Baker offered, while taking a casual glance around the room and making sure they could not be overheard by anyone.

"And you know what else about Curry that has Munch in a twist?" Stevens asked knowingly, as he let his eyes linger on the inmate being discussed, while he leaned against the wall.

O'Reilly and Baker leaned just a little bit closer to Stevens and asked simultaneously, "What else?"

Stevens, who was basically good-nature despite his occupation and being a bit of a gossip, continued, "Well, being new, I'm assigned to relief duty a lot so I get around more than you other guys normally do. I was talking to the night guys as they were coming off last week and Spannetti in the North Wing is convinced the inmates have a system for notifying each other when a guard is coming. He keeps hearing knocking and tapping noises for no reason. He has also heard a whisper or two but hasn't been able to catch a convict in the act. He finally told Munch about it and the Captain is blaming Curry. He may actually be right since no one heard anything before he arrived and none of the South Wing men report anything. The other thing you can judge for yourself. Take a look around. Look closely at the inmates. O'Reilly, you spend all day watching Curry. He's been here now for what, four months; does he act and carry himself like the normal prisoner to you? I'm telling you, Curry better get meek and mild real quick and show the Captain he knows his place or else…"

The three guards stopped their quiet conversation, pushed off the wall and resumed their duties by walking the production floor. Each took the opportunity to do just what Stevens had suggested, judging the behavior of the convicts, comparing it to past behavior and covertly evaluating L1314's behavior, attitude and deportment.

O'Reilly had to admit Stevens only said what he had thought himself regarding Curry. The fact was Curry might be down but he didn't seem out. L1314 appeared to act according to all the regulations. Even Riggs, who hated L1314, couldn't really find any reason to formally put him on report no matter how hard he had tried the last few weeks. That didn't stop him from prodding Curry at every opportunity in the hopes of goading Curry into losing that famous temper. O'Reilly couldn't help but wonder at the amount of self-control the inmate was exercising.

As O'Reilly watched L1314 go about his duties with new eyes, he noticed little things in his interactions with the surrounding people that he didn't consciously notice before. Of course, most of the time he spent guarding Curry; Curry had little interaction with anyone other than his immediate keepers. Now he saw L1314 shuffle in his leg irons with his back straight, shoulders back, not stooped or slumped like most prisoners. His head was bowed according to prison regulations but not hanging in defeat. O'Reilly realized L1314 complied with orders readily enough but almost as if he evaluated his options for a split second and choose to obey rather than showing immediate and reflexive compliance. He could understand how, if Munch and Warden Hardston perceived Curry's less than total submissive attitude, L1314 was heading for a dangerous and futile confrontation.

O'Reilly then examined the other convicts with a critical eye. Most still were like sheep being led to slaughter, mindless obedience to their keepers, but here and there a subtle change could be detected. L1314 passed and a fleeting smile passed across an inmate's face finishing his broom quota. A convict moving wood to be lathed for handles exchanged a barely perceptible nod of the head with Curry. More than one man stood like a man, even in prison stripes, not like a ghost of a man. There was no other explanation for the changes other than the famous gunslinger and outlaw had been added to the mix and didn't immediately lose his self-respect.

O'Reilly didn't have Stevens' immediate fascination and awe for the outlaw which he attributed to Stevens' personal background. He really couldn't blame Stevens too much as Stevens' family had lost their small ranch to the combination of the railroad pre-empting a good chunk of land and the bank foreclosing on the mortgage during the last depression. Hannibal Heyes' and Kid Curry, having only targeted banks and railroads, were sort of folk hero likable rogues to a lot of people in those circumstances in Wyoming.

O'Reilly didn't particularly set out to become a prison guard either but could not find other work. The need to support himself, then his young family, drove him take employment at the prison and to keep it. He was aware of the rumors surrounding Hannibal Heyes' and Kid Curry's histories but didn't know what was truth and what was fiction. O'Reilly believed that didn't excuse a life of crime but he couldn't help finding things to admire and was developing a growing respect for the man.

The ringing of the bell signifying the end of the factory workday concluded O'Reilly's musing and he moved to his designated post for lockstep formation. The convicts quickly finished their immediate tasks, tidied their workstations and moved to the center of the room in assigned order. L1314 was last in line, right hand on the shoulder of the man in front of him giving a tiny squeeze of recognition.

The convict line proceeded out the broom factory door into the darkening enclosed prison yard on the way to the evening meal. O'Reilly watched L1314 go by, knew the welts and lacerations under the black and white striped shirt were finally completely healed and found himself uncustomarily filled with foreboding for an inmate. He wondered how he let himself depart from his guarded neutrality.

* * *

Captain Munch stood before Warden Hardston's desk to deliver his evening report. While waiting for the warden to finish the task he was presently engaged in, the Captain contemplated various observations he had personally made in the last few weeks and the puzzling reports of the mystery noises in the North Wing during the night. The Captain was convinced it was not as much of a mystery as it seemed and he did not need concrete evidence to act on his instincts. He had underestimated Kid Curry. He had believed rumors of Curry's strength of will and adherence to a personal code of honor were fabricated tales based on dime novel portrayals not the actual man. It would take more than physical punishment to break him. Captain Munch was relatively sure the Warden would give tacit approval for the next step in his plan for Curry.

* * *

L1314 was going to miss light duty and the six-day work week. The reverend delivered a good sermon; although he could have been reading the dictionary and the Kid would have been grateful for the speech. Today was the third Sunday of November and as such was shower day for the North Wing and head-shaving day for the third tier cell block. Curry thought sourly how great it was that he'd be nice and clean just in time to be up to his elbows in piss and crap again tomorrow _,_ as he stood in line waiting to descend the staircase to the first floor.

The simple act of showering in prison was an afternoon-long production. The inmates stripped, two men at a time, placing their dirty clothes in a bin and their shoes on a rack. Then two sat in the old barber chairs to have their heads shaved and when they were once again bald, they moved forward into place on the shower floor to be sprayed with cold water while they washed themselves. The inmates moved forward again and took a rough small towel to dry themselves and obtain appropriate-sized clean clothing from bins, then waited in line. Once everyone was finished, the shoe rack was wheeled to the opposite side of the room and the prisoners formed into lockstep after donning their footwear.

Curry noticed that it was early afternoon; usually by the time the first two tiers of the North Wing were done it was much later in the day. He wondered what caused the change because as he observed from his months long imprisonment, prison routine changed very rarely. The third tier cell block arrived in the shower room and the Kid noted the floor was dry; he wondered if the routine changed and the third tier was going first.

L1314 was separated out from the back of the line and brought to the front of a small side storage room by the two waiting guards that Curry recognized from the shower chair incident. The Kid started to become anxious when one bent down and removed his leg irons as Captain Munch strode into the room and stood before the convicts. The two burly guards took hold of L1314's arms. The regular cell block guards shifted in place uneasily as the tension in the room became noticeable.

"Most of you convicts have been in the Wyoming Territorial Prison for some time. As many of you already know, it is customary to reward good behavior on the inmate's part with an opportunity to satisfy male needs. The warden and I have decided that today is a day for such a reward," Captain Munch announced to the room.

Munch turned, walked over to stand directly in front of L1314 and looked straight at him. L1314 had his head in the prison required position, facing down. Munch took his time examining L1314, could see Curry tense, could sense his growing anger and was going to savor the next few moments when the famous outlaw, reputed ladies man and still over-confident convicted felon realized what was happening.

"Every prison has a whore. The Wyoming Territorial Prison has been without our whore since 72217 was released. As of today, we have a new whore. He will be available for a quick poke to those who feel the need and whenever I decide. Today he is available to the inmates of the North Wing. It's too bad his blond curls have been shaved off but you can still tell he's a blond. The whore has a widespread reputation for being quite the ladies man. Let's see what reputation he earns as a "lady". Maintain your position while the new whore is readied for the first customer." Munch talked to the group but his eyes stayed fixed on Curry as the Kid suddenly knew Munch was talking about him and he brought his head up sharply, blue eyes staring back with disbelief then undisguised hatred. Captain Munch smirked in satisfaction as he nodded to the hulking guards holding L1314.

Curry couldn't contain his rage, not about this. He unleashed his anger and shook his arms loose from the grip of his captors. A strong right cross landed solidly in the middle of the captor's face. Blood started to drip from the guard's nose as the he swung back, catching Kid in the left eye. His legs free for once, Kid fought back with fists and feet as several regular guards joined in the fight. The remaining guards kept tight control over the prisoner line, preventing the one-sided fight from rapidly degenerating into a melee.

O'Reilly was towards the back of the prisoner line and concentrated on keeping the other prisoners from joining in the fight or coming to inadvertent harm. He watched the short but intense struggle and tried not to think about what was really going on. Curry was giving as good as he was getting but at five to one the outcome was inevitable. O'Reilly glanced over at Baker who was also keeping the line out of the way, and saw the slightly sick expression on his face as each could hear Curry screaming and yelling obscenities.

"This is rape! You have people in cells for doing this! Some right here.! You can't do this. It's not natural! It's not right! No, you can't make me, you sick bastards!"

Several punches to the kidneys and gut had the Kid bent double, blood dripping from his face onto the floor. Curry's right hand pressed against his left side after Munch swung the wood handle of the lash as hard as he could into the Kid's left ribs. One of the burly guards wrenched his left arm high behind his back and started steering the staggering L1314 into the small storage room off the shower area.

Munch surveyed the shower room, which was in almost total silence except for the out-of-breath curses that could still be heard from L1314.

"Those who want to take advantage of the reward that has been arranged, line up in front of the storage room. When you're finished then get in line for the shower. I trust some of you still want the pleasure. The rest start stripping, get shaved and get showered." Munch declared to the room and there was not a man there who did not catch the implied threat that to interfere with Munch's plans for L1314 was to risk becoming the whore instead.

* * *

It took three guards to render the new whore naked. It required two to hold the still-struggling inmate face down, torso lengthwise on the sturdy sawhorse crosspiece, while the third tightly tied his wrists and ankles to the legs. Curry finally stilled when one of the guards holding him down became tired of the struggle and punched him hard in the right kidney. The only movement after the whore managed to breathe again was to lift his head up to try to stop from retching.

Munch entered the storeroom and looked down at the helpless prisoner. He bent down and placed his face close to the Kid's left ear.

"Now you will see that you are no longer a man. You belong to me, Curry, and to prove it I'm going to be your first fuck. You like to fuck, don't you? Supposedly, saloon girls say you're good at it. We're going to find out now just how good you are at being fucked." Munch unbuttoned his pants and stroked his already-hardening penis as he pulled it from his trousers.

He laid his hands on the Kid's shoulders and ran them down his back to rest on his bare ass while noting with satisfaction the lurid, crisscrossing, healed welts. "Too bad about the welts, L1314; you had nice smooth skin, hairless, like a woman's"

"I'll see you in hell for this Munch," Curry managed to gasp out as his whole body tensed up. He clenched his backside as tight as he could. Part of him still refused to accept what was going to happen.

The three guards stood in front of the door and anticipated their turn. They watched in appreciation as Munch grabbed a rock-hard buttock in each fist and pulled them apart.

Munch chuckled, "You're just making it harder for yourself, and tighter is better for me. But go ahead; you can't keep me out and I'll just have more pleasure hurting you on the way in."

"No, no, this is rape, you can't, no," whispered Kid over and over to himself. "Actually, I can," came the matter of fact response as Munch sited his target, lined up his weapon and thrust hard all the way in.

White-hot pain, like he could never have imagined, tore through the Kid. His head came up and his back arched and he tried to pull away, to no avail. The pain intensified as Munch continued thrusting his full length as brutally as he could, with the sound of his balls slapping against Curry's ass accompanying the hard grunts he was uttering. Kid tightly squeezed his eyes shut but he could not stop a few tears of frustration, shame and pain from escaping.

Munch abruptly stopped and pulled all the way out, slapping L1314's ass hard on his way to stand in front of the new whore's head. "Whore, you are now going to clean me off and suck me dry. If I feel even a hint of teeth, you'll be a gelding for life. Now open up."

The hulking second guard whose nose was not broken grabbed a straight razor off a shelf and held it to the base of the Kid's scrotum. L1314 immediately became still and held his breath. The guard at the rear pressed the blade harder to just nick the skin as a demonstration of intent. Droplets of blood appeared. L1314 opened his mouth and felt Munch push his cock in.

"Lick it clean and then suck it dry. Remember no teeth."

Kid swallowed the bile that was rising and burning his throat, tried not to gag, tried not to think, and licked then sucked. Soon Munch was thrusting deep in L1314's mouth, causing the new whore to gag as the cum shot down the back of his throat. Curry was trying to catch a breath, was getting dizzy as his air was cut off and finally gave up trying not to swallow as the Captain finished his climax.

L1314's head hung down in defeat and his stomach started to heave, spewing its contents all over the floor just missing Munch's feet. Munch quickly shoved a dirty rag in the whore's mouth and picked up a towel.

"Vomit again and you'll suffocate, whore. Keep it down and start liking the taste. Don't worry; the others only have access to your ass. Your mouth is mine. Now, this towel is going over your eyes so you won't know who had a piece of you and who didn't. From now on every time you look at someone you'll wonder did he or didn't he? I'll see you later when I'll deal with you breaking the no fighting rule." Munch tied the towel around L1314's head, blindfolding him.

Munch then spoke to the guards in front of the door. "Have a go at him, then let the convicts take their turn. When everyone who wants a poke is done, hose him off, get him dressed, chain his legs and I'll be back to collect him." The Captain issued instructions as he wiped himself off, buttoned up and strode out of the storeroom.

* * *

Warden Hardston was extremely annoyed. He did not take kindly to being disturbed on a Sunday evening at home to walk back over to the prison to deal with a problem inmate. Two large guards, one on each side of the inmate, had a hold of the trouble maker by the upper arms. That the inmate was looking at him through only one bruised eye, the other being closed completely, and showing evidence in his battered appearance, slow painful movements, swaying slumped stance and labored breathing, of having gotten the worst of the fight was of no consequence.

"L1314, this is the second time you have been before me in four weeks for assaulting a guard. You have broken the nose of a valuable prison employee and caused others to have multiple bruises. I would have thought the corrective action for your last episode, especially since you have only just recovered from its effects, would have made a more lasting impression. But I see that is not so. Captain Munch, since it is still Sunday, kneeling seems appropriate for penitence. L1314 can spend the remainder of the night on the knee board kneeling in the discipline unit. First thing tomorrow morning, he is sentenced to ten days in the dark cell to cool his temper off. L1314, you should take this time to seriously consider how you want to spend the rest of your life here at the Wyoming Territorial Prison. Dismissed." The warden nodded to Munch as the Captain along with the burly guards from this afternoon half carried, half dragged L1314 from the office.

* * *

The group descended the central stone prison stairs to the basement. L1314 had never been in this part of the prison before and from what he could see from his blurry right eye, he didn't think he wanted to be there. At the bottom of the stairs was a sign. The wooden door to the right was labeled Storerooms. It was the metal door to the left labeled Prisoner Discipline Cell Block that the guards opened and they proceeded to half carry L1314 down the dim hall. The second heavy wood door on the left was open, revealing a large dank room containing a tall cabinet in the far corner, a strong chain ending in a hook attachment hung from a pulley in the middle of the ceiling before running over to a winch mounted halfway up the side wall, and one old battered but sturdy chair next to the cabinet.

Captain Munch went over to the cabinet and extracted a rectangular board approximately three feet by one foot by three inches. An eight-inch strip of wood was nailed along one of the longer sides and protruded up to stop anything sliding off that side. The surface of the wood with the protrusion was covered with ridges and small bumps. The bottom surface was smooth. Hooks were placed along the narrower one-foot sides. The captain placed the smooth surface of the board on the floor under the hook and chain dangling from the ceiling. He then went back to the cabinet and retrieved a set of handcuffs and some lengths of rawhide.

L1314 was pushed down to kneel on the rough surface of the board with the front of his knees against the wooden lip, preventing his knees from sliding forward. One of the guards laced the rawhide over the backs of the prisoner's calves to hold his legs in place; although the prisoner's usual leg irons wouldn't be much help, he left them in place then cuffed the inmate's wrists behind his back and finally attached the hook at the end of the hanging chain to the handcuffs. Captain Munch then turned the winch handle until L1314 was kneeling with his back and thighs perpendicular to the floor. The chain attached to his handcuffs pulled his arms slightly away from his back.

"Have a nice night, L1314. I hope you realize resisting your proper position in prison is futile now. The night guard will check in on you periodically during the night. In the morning I won't see you; your two keepers will have the honor of depositing you in the dark cell for ten days of doing nothing but thinking, like the warden suggested," Captain Munch said from the doorway as the three prison guards departed, leaving L1314 alone in his misery.

L1314 swayed in place. Dizziness and nausea competed with pain from just about everywhere for his attention. He did not have the energy to maintain the straight up kneeling posture that he was secured in and as fatigue rapidly came upon him, his body slumped backwards to rest on his heels. L1314's knees hurt less without his weight pushing down on the knobby surface of the board but the pressure in his abused backside demanded another change in position. He felt a small warm sticky wetness form in the seat of his pants and was not surprised. As he bent forward closer and closer to the floor the chain attached to his wrists behind his back pulled his arms higher and away from his back. Now his shoulders added to his agony. Sweat started to break out on his forehead. It hurt to breathe; he thought a rib might be cracked on his left side but his right side in the back throbbed almost as bad and that was probably due to the kidney punches.

Small soft moans mixed with suppressed sobs ushered forth from L1314's lips. He tried to call forth his powers of concentration. He was known for his ability to concentrate fully on one thing and one thing only, to shut everything else out. His very survival depended upon that mental capability. L1314 tried to concentrate on a vision of him and Munch standing in the prison courtyard paces apart. He tried to remember the feel of the familiar gun belt low on his hips and tied down, the feel of the butt of his Colt. He envisioned where the bullet would strike when he outdrew the guard captain. The vision abruptly disappeared when L1314's nausea suddenly increased and he tried to twist as far to the side and down as he could, straining his shoulders to their limits. L1314 convulsively retched. The dizziness returned and L1314 was no longer capable of straightening up but only managed to lean away from the mess on the floor when darkness descended into welcomed unconsciousness.

* * *

Riggs and O'Reilly opened the door to the so-called dungeon first thing after reporting for duty on Monday morning. The sour pungent smell of vomit reached their noses before the door was even fully opened. They found L1314 bent over, his forehead touching the cold stone floor, breathing in short shallow gasps. He was pale and appeared to be unconscious. They moved into the room and O'Reilly immediately moved to the winch to unwind the chain that was holding the prisoner's arms far from his body. As his arms came down, L1314 lifted his head slightly and moaned once.

Riggs unlaced the rawhide, causing the inmate to roll sideways and come to rest on his bruised right side. L1314 fought to keep his one good eye open as exhaustion, pain, fear and hopelessness conspired to close it. O'Reilly knelt next to L1314, removed the handcuffs and started to rub his arms and shoulders while Riggs put the devices away after shooting O'Reilly a disapproving look. L1314 could not stop himself from groaning as full circulation returned to his legs and arms. The shoulder ligaments, tendons and muscles protested as they gradually returned to normal positions after being stretched to their limits for the last several hours of the night.

"Do you think we should take him to see the Doc? He looks in pretty bad shape from the last twenty-four hours. The way he's breathing, one or two of his ribs may be broken and who knows what inside is bruised. He took a few hard blows to his kidneys that I saw and I'm not sure of all that happened in the storeroom. He's pretty pale and his skin is cool to the touch. What do you think, Riggs?" O'Reilly asked worriedly while thinking how quickly things could change. Curry certainly looked down and out now.

Riggs gazed dispassionately at the beaten man at his feet and replied, "Munch said to throw him in the dark room and that's what we're gonna to do. He didn't say anything about lettin' him go to sick call."

It took a while but eventually Riggs and O'Reilly got L1314 to his feet and moving. O'Reilly was more than half supporting the prisoner as they moved the short distance down the hall to the five underground dark cells with Riggs leading the way. Riggs opened the door to the first dark cell and indicated to L1314 that he should remove his shoes and place them in the wooden box outside the door. O'Reilly leaned the subdued convict against the corridor wall, then bent down to slip L1314's shoes off, much to Riggs disgust. O'Reilly managed to maneuver the prisoner into the cell and Riggs stepped down the hallway while O'Reilly was still steadying him in the tiny cool space.

The dark cell was unheated and very small; it only measured six feet by three feet and was six and half feet high. The entire cell was lined with bricks except for the floor, which was stone. The only object in the cell was a very large metal bucket in the back corner. L1314 did not even bother to glance around his new home for the next ten days.

Riggs started to explain the rules for the dark cells. "Once the door is closed, it will not be opened again until your sentence is finished. One meal a day, a pan of beans, is passed through the slot in the bottom of the door at noon. A canteen of water is passed through at that time. The slot will remain open for one half-hour, letting in the only light you'll have for the next twenty-four hours. At the end of the half-hour of light the guard will bang on the door, you must pass through your dirty dish, spoon and old empty canteen or you will not receive your meal or water on the next day. The bucket for your relief will only be emptied when you're released. There is a sliding peephole in the door and the guards do make rounds down here if a dark cell or dungeon cell is occupied, as you may have noticed last night. Do you have any questions? You may speak."

L1314 barely shook his head no.

"Come on, O'Reilly, let go of him. We have other work to get to," Riggs said impatiently as he reached around to grab the slate hanging outside of the solid metal door and wrote the date ten days from hence when L1314 was due to emerge from the hellhole. He threw the full canteen that was hanging on the outside of the cell door into the small dark space.

O'Reilly eased Curry to the floor and whispered close to Curry's ear so Riggs wouldn't hear. "I'm sorry. I didn't know. I couldn't stop it. It's not right at all."

L1314 leaned his head back against the bricks and watched O'Reilly leave the cell. The door closed with a bang. Curry was in total darkness, both in body and mind. For the first time in four months, he could not conjure up thoughts of Heyes for comfort. Heyes would not want to know him now; he was sure of that. He let his good eye close and wished for the darkness of eternity as he let himself collapse on his right side drawing his knees up to his chest and his arms folding in front of him, the right hand pressing against his left side. He didn't regret his decision to turn himself in but felt no satisfaction from knowing he was right all along when he had told Lom that he would be better off dead.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter Eleven**

 _ **November 1883**_

Lom stood on the porch of his house outside Porterville, watching the sky turn from a fiery bronze to shades of purple. The air was crisp and cold and he wondered when the first real snow would fall. The few flurries before Thanksgiving had blown around the Territory but had not dumped any significant accumulation, although, now that the holiday had passed, it would only be a matter of time. Lom turned towards the road, squinting in the approaching darkness to better see the rider whose approach he could hear. After a few minutes passed, Lom recognized his sometime boarder's form mounted on a dark chestnut gelding and stepped off the porch to meet the rider in front of the barn.

Heyes rode into the yard, dismounted, and started to lead the chestnut into the barn without a word of acknowledgment to his friend walking towards him. Lom hesitated and slowed his step to give himself time to think. From Heyes' behavior, he gathered that Heyes had not succeeded in visiting his partner. Heyes, who was not normally superstitious, had insisted on taking Kid Curry's horse on this trip to Laramie in the hope that the gelding would bring good luck. Lom kept his opinion to himself - it would not have done any good to voice it anyway - and thought at least the horse would get the type of exercise he was used to. During the last four months, Lom occasionally rode the gelding around the immediate vicinity but the horse had not gone on any extensive journeys around the countryside since his owner became a resident of Wyoming's penal institution. Lom waited quietly while Heyes unsaddled the dark chestnut after depositing him in the stall between Lom's bay and Heyes' light chestnut.

"I didn't see him." Heyes finally turned to his friend.

"I guessed. This is the third month you've been out to the prison without seeing Kid; maybe before you go again you should wait to receive a reply to at least one of the letters you've been sending. It may save you an unnecessary trip and a lotta grief," Lom replied with a sympathetic half smile.

"If it's any consolation to you, I finally received a reply from Warden Hardston regarding my request to question the Kid. I didn't have any more success than you but at least they saved me a trip for nothin'. The warden stated that the convict was literate and that if I cared to submit my questions in writing they would ensure he would read them and write a reply, which the warden would be happy to forward to my office. So much for that idea," Lom related regretfully as he and Heyes closed the barn doors and walked across the yard to the house.

Heyes stopped abruptly before climbing the stairs and turned to Lom, who was slightly behind him. "It was Thanksgiving! According to what the prison officials had said months earlier, they're only three extra visiting days a year, days that inmates can have more than the one visitor allowed per month. On Easter, Christmas and Thanksgiving the visiting regulations are relaxed, but apparently not for Kid Curry," Heyes bitterly complained.

The dark-haired, unhappy ex-outlaw stepped up onto the steps and turned quickly again, halting Lom's progress up the porch stairs. "Thanksgiving is for families. The Kid and I are the only family we have, Lom. My only family, the one thing I am most thankful for in my entire life, spent Thanksgiving in solitary. One of the guards caught me in the hall just as I was leaving to let me know not to stay and try to see him on Sunday since L1314, they didn't even call him by name, Lom, was in solitary confinement and wouldn't be out by then. That's more than the guard at the desk has ever told me. Solitary confinement don't sound good. What is going on in there? Do you realize the Kid has been in there for four full months and no one has heard a word from him, that those few quick whispered sentences were the first and only thing I know about him? Lom, I'm worried, real worried; the Kid doesn't do well with people ordering him around. I'm afraid he won't be able to control his temper. I know how he felt about going to prison. I wonder what happened that he's in solitary, whether they hurt him first. Lom, I need to see him! To tell him to hold on. We have a plan. I's a good plan but it might take a while. Lom, he doesn't know about the lawyer or that we're working to get him out. I have to let him know before something really bad happens." Heyes voice rose higher in pitch and in volume, as he grew more agitated while he stared into Lom's concerned brown eyes.

Lom didn't know what to say to console Heyes since he had most of the same concerns. He feared for his friend's survival in prison, especially since he had knowledge from his law enforcement contacts of the general conditions in the Wyoming Territorial Prison. He chose not to share this knowledge with Heyes as it wouldn't serve any purpose other than to increase Heyes' anxiety.

Lom watched Heyes' retreating back as he continued into the house. To the outsider's eye, Heyes appeared to be adjusting well to his amnesty but Lom had his doubts. Prestigious poker game invitations kept coming his way. Nickersen and his attorney acquaintances, who had learned the value of Heyes' intelligence and problem-solving skills, increasingly called upon the ex-outlaw for various jobs, competing with Big Mac for his time. Heyes had even opened a bank account in the Porterville Bank in which he had been steadily depositing money. He traveled almost as much as before his amnesty only the destinations were planned, there were no quick getaways in the middle of the night and lastly, he traveled alone. The room he occupied in Lom's home was still the closest Heyes came to settling down.

But appearances could be deceiving. Lom thought Heyes, never the easiest man to read, was becoming ever more able to hide behind his public reformed outlaw persona. There were small signs of the strain the man was under, if one looked closely. Lom believed eventually Heyes would build walls so thick no one would ever be able to penetrate through to the inner man or he would become brittle and shatter then Kid's sacrifice would be for nothing.

The sheriff passed through the door to find saddlebags on the floor at the bottom of the stairs and Heyes in the kitchen staring into a simmering pot on the stove. The savory aroma of beef stew filled the room and started Lom's stomach rumbling loudly.

"It smells good, Lom. Go ahead and eat. I'm not that hungry, I'll eat later." Heyes remarked as he looked pointedly at Lom's middle.

"You dish out two bowls Heyes. When was the last time you had a decent meal? I bet it's been awhile so sit down and eat now," Lom ordered and he disappeared up the stairs.

"I've got something that may cheer you up" the sheriff called down from the second floor and hoped for both their sakes that his words were true.

Lom returned with an envelope in his hand that he put in front of Heyes before sitting down at the table. He then waited impatiently as Heyes read the front.

It's from Nickersen," Heyes stated unnecessarily, since Lom had obviously read the return address.

The bowls of stew momentarily forgotten, the two men stared at the envelope held in Heyes' hand. "You gonna open it or stare at it Heyes" The letter had been delivered two days ago and Lom was curious to know the contents.

"Yes, of course. Geez, Lom, hold your horses." Heyes tore the side of the envelope, extracted the letter and started to read. A smile slowly spread across Heyes' face, for which Lom was grateful since genuine smiles from Heyes were becoming rarer and rarer.

Heyes looked up and the dimple appeared. "Nickersen has official permission to visit Kid at the Prison December 9th. Lom, I knew I liked the guy. When he wired confirmation of the appointment, he told them he injured his arm and an assistant will be with him to take notes. They wired back permission for the assistant to be present. I have a new job as personal assistant and investigator for Richard Nickersen, Esq. Look, he even sent business cards! Hannibal Heyes, Investigator, Office of Richard Nickersen, Attorney at Law, Denver, Colorado." Heyes passed a card over to Lom, grinning like the proverbial cat who ate the canary.

Later that evening, the two men sat in comfortable armchairs toasting their stocking feet in front of the roaring fire, sipping small glasses of whisky, and each appeared to be absorbed in their books. In actuality, neither was concentrating on the words before him. The man on the right was staring at the pages, his mind racing with all the things he needed to tell his partner. He hoped this would not be his one and only chance to see Kid and have things understood between them.

The man on the left sat absently stroking his mustache while discreetly observing Heyes. He remembered the conversations and arguments with Kid Curry, the stubborn insistence on following his chosen course of action whether Lom helped him or not. He recalled the despondency and fatalism Kid had shown in the days leading up to his surrender, and wondered what state Heyes would find Kid in; the fact that Kid was in solitary worried him and he didn't have any more confidence than Heyes in Kid's will to survive a life term.

* * *

 _ **December 9, 1883**_

At 8:45 am, a rented carriage pulled up in front of the forbidding brick and stone Wyoming Territorial Prison. A cold wind was blowing the light snow from the previous night across the gloomy landscape to collect in small drifts against the red and brown building. The two men in the carriage sat staring in silence at the arched doorway for several moments before the sandy-haired man with the bulky bandaged right arm gave a nudge to the dark-haired man next to him.

"The way I heard you pacing around your hotel room at the crack of dawn and the impatience you had wrapping my arm - and by the way, it hasn't loosened up at all, I hope I have feeling in my fingers when we take this itchy thing off - I thought you would jump out of the carriage before we stopped. Don't worry. You will see your partner. We have official permission from the Attorney General's Office and Warden Hardston. Jedediah Curry has the right to legal representation so they must let us see him," Richard Nickersen kindly remarked in a slightly teasing tone, puffs of smoke from his words forming in the cold air.

"Richard, what if they don't let me in? They haven't the last three times I was here." Heyes was suddenly bordering on irrationally nervous. He felt as if he was breaking into the Denver Mint without floor plans or his partner to watch his back. Heyes was shivering and he wasn't entirely sure it was only from the cold; he could not stop his hands from shaking as they clutched the lawyer's portfolio.

"Heyes, we've planned just what we are going to say and do. You are officially employed by my office as an investigator and assistant. They might make it uncomfortable or difficult for you but they will let you accompany me to the prisoner interview. You are not a visitor," Nickersen stated confidently as he got down from the carriage.

Inside, the prison was warmer in temperature but the atmosphere was just as cold as outside. The guard staffing the reception desk looked up at the two men before him with an uninterested expression.

"May I help you, Sirs?"

"Richard Nickersen, Esq. and my assistant are here for a nine o'clock appointment to see Jedediah Curry. My assistant has the approvals," Nickersen responded and nodded for Heyes to hand the required paperwork to the guard.

The guard swiped the paperwork from Heyes' hand and suddenly stopped and looked hard at the dark-haired man in the brown suit standing in front of the desk.

"Wait a minute. That's Hannibal Heyes! He ain't no lawyer's assistant. He can't see L1314!" The guard exclaimed with an air of triumph.

"On the contrary, Mr. Heyes is in my employ and the approvals do not specify who my assistant may or may not be," Nickersen calmly stated, while Heyes laid his business card on the desk and smiled at the smug guard.

"Wait here. I will have to clear this with the warden and the captain." The guard hurried out of the small reception area and down a short hall where he disappeared from view.

Heyes started pacing. Richard Nickersen sat in one of the chairs and waited patiently. The guard returned with an older hard-bitten guard in tow.

The stern-looking newcomer stood and obviously sized up the two waiting men before speaking in an officious tone. "Hello, I am Captain Munch, Captain of the Guard here at the Wyoming Territorial Prison. A guard will be here shortly to escort Mr. Nickersen to the prison interrogation room. I have sent for L1314 to be brought down from his cell but it will take a few moments. Mr. Heyes may participate in the interview as your assistant, Mr. Nickersen, under two conditions. One, that you take full responsibility for his actions, and two, he must submit to a thorough search." Munch waited, outwardly impassive and inwardly seething, for the lawyer to answer.

"Of course, in order to see my client, we are willing to comply with any and all prison regulations. We have no objection to standard search procedures." Nickersen rose and looked at Munch face to face, taking an instant dislike to the guard captain.

"It will be sufficient for Gould to pat you down and search your portfolio, Mr. Nickersen." Munch indicated for the guard assigned to reception to start the procedure.

"However, Mr. Heyes is a known ex-outlaw and the prisoner's ex-partner; I would be shirking my duty to ensure the safety of the prison personnel, your safety and the other prisoners' safety if I did not require Mr. Heyes to undergo a strip search." Munch stared at Heyes, daring him to object.

He was to be disappointed. Heyes summoned all his practiced acting skills and smiled cooperatively at the guard captain but his eyes let Munch know exactly what Heyes thought of this tactic.

"No problem. You want me to strip right here?"

* * *

Nickersen had been in with Kid Curry for a while before the guard at reception walked Heyes down the hall after performing the required search and finding nothing to prohibit Heyes from seeing his ex-partner.

The footsteps heralding their arrival caused the guard leaning on the wall outside the door to straighten up and look towards the sound. Heyes was acutely aware of how eerily silent the prison seemed; sounds seemed to be magnified beyond normal significance. Heyes also noted muffled intermittent coughing that was coming from inside the room and knew Nickersen didn't have a cold. Was Kid sick?

"O'Reilly, where's Riggs? Isn't he supposed to be with you?" Gould asked the young redheaded guard standing in the corridor before a door as they neared the small interrogation room.

"What do you need, Gould? He went on break; don't worry, he'll be back before time's up. If I need help, you are only a shout away," O'Reilly replied.

"This here is Hannibal Heyes. He has permission to be with L1314's lawyer, says he's the lawyer's assistant. I searched him and he's clean so you can let him in. I gotta go back to the office and will be back when time's up." Gould stomped back down to his desk.

Heyes waited impatiently at the door as O'Reilly inserted the key into the lock. O'Reilly didn't open the door immediately but laid his hand on Heyes' arm lightly and looked him in the eye. "Did you hire him the lawyer, Mr. Heyes? Get him released or get him transferred but get Kid Curry out of this prison as soon as you can." O'Reilly urged in a low voice before releasing Heyes' arm and opening the door.

Heyes met O'Reilly's green eyes and was momentarily startled to see genuine concern. His anxiety increased tenfold as he stepped over the threshold. Heyes thought he was prepared to see unwelcome changes in his partner's appearance but was stunned into a speechless silence.

Kid sat stiffly, shoulders slumped in a straight-backed sturdy wooden chair against one wall of the room. He flicked his eyes sideways towards the door without lifting his head from studying the floor. Heyes perceived alarm and panic and was puzzled. Brown eyes slowly surveyed the defeated-looking man from the top of his head to the tips of his shoes, taking in every detail.

The fact that Kid was bald surprised him; it shouldn't have, he realized, since he had seen prisoners on his previous visits; it was just that Kid's thick, soft, honey-colored curls were as much a part of his image as the low-slung gun belt and .45. His partner's face was thin, bearded, and pale. He thought from the fleeting glimpse he had of Kid's eyes that they were glassy and slightly feverish. He noted faint remnants of bruising that could still be seen about the eyes and left jaw line. Heyes' eyes narrowed when he noted the heavy iron collar and small padlock around Kid's neck that tethered him to a metal ring in the wall with a short chain. The black and white striped uniform hung from stooped shoulders. Curry's wrists were cuffed behind his back binding them to the chair and leg irons connected his ankles. Kid's body shook with chesty-sounding coughs every few minutes, which caused the chains to rattle ominously and Curry to involuntarily wince in pain.

The room was small, without a window and contained a table and four chairs. Nickersen had pushed the table up to Curry and laid out several documents along the surface, which he was in the midst of explaining when Heyes had finally entered the room.

"Ah, Heyes, good thing I didn't wait for you to perform the introductions. I'm sorry about the search but that was their prerogative. I just explained to Mr. Curry his legal options and am now going through the pardon application process." Nickersen looked up from pointing at the document on the left of the table and greeted Heyes.

Kid had not acknowledged Heyes' presence.

"Hello, Kid, it's good to see you. I missed you, partner."

Kid offered no response but continued to sit impassively, bound to the chair.

Nickersen exchanged a glance with Heyes and reached for the edge of the table to pull it towards the center of the room, giving Heyes room to maneuver around his partner. The attorney then opened his leather portfolio and arranged additional documents on the table, and sat in a chair at the opposite side from Curry. Nickersen nodded to Heyes to continue to speak with Kid Curry while he appeared to be studying the contents of his case, in order to give the partners a modicum of superficial privacy.

Heyes cleared his throat and started to talk. He told the Kid of his travels, jobs and life since that fateful early August day. He hated August, now more than ever, since the month has now entirely robbed him of his family. He conveyed their friends' dismay at Kid's fate and their well wishes for his pardon. Heyes related the eagerness and cooperation the people they had met during the joint quest for amnesty had shown by completing the affidavits of character and letters of recommendation. He tried to elicit a smile with the story of Big Mac actually starting to believe his own story and calling Kid his nephew. He recounted how Harry Briscoe might be incompetent as a detective but as a writer of affidavits of character he excelled. Curry remained unresponsive except for possibly retreating even more within himself. Heyes started to pace as his nervousness increased with every passing minute his cousin refused to acknowledge him.

Heyes realized this was getting him nowhere and time was limited so he stopped talking. He needed to connect with the Kid and words weren't doing that. Heyes crouched directly in front of his partner; so his head was level with Curry's. Kid Curry turned his head slightly to the side but still remained looking down while another coughing spasm shook his body. Heyes eyed the man sitting less than a foot away, guessed he was hurting physically, was sick as well, but Heyes was most concerned with what was hidden inside the hard head.

"Kid, please look at me," Heyes pleaded.

"I wrote you letters, but never received any replies. Kid, I need to know if you read the letter I wrote right after you turned yourself in." Heyes intently watched the top of Kid's head and thought he detected a small movement indicating no.

"Jed, look at me," Heyes commanded softly but firmly.

Kid Curry raised his head and looked into the worried brown eyes of his former partner.

In that moment of unguarded access to Jedediah's soul Heyes saw what he needed to know, for the moment at least. Kid slowly closed his eyes and started to drop his head.

Heyes placed his arms on either side of the chair, bracketing the Kid. "Jed, please look at me. I need to talk with you and you know we do that best when we look at each other."

Jed raised his head once more and blue eyes met brown. Heyes had never, not even on that awful August afternoon nineteen years ago, seen those eyes reveal hopelessness so complete that it took Heyes' breath away. Heyes knew that something truly horrific must have happened; he didn't know what yet and doubted Jed would tell him. Kid Curry was ready to fold his hand and give up the game. Heyes realized if he wanted Jed Curry in his life, he would have to lay all his cards on the table and bet everything he had on the hand that was dealt, right now.

Heyes leaned in close, forehead touching the Kid's pale sweaty brow. He kept his voice low and even, used a soothing but authoritative tone. "You once told me that a man can make it through a whole lot more than he thinks he can, if he has a good enough reason. You were right. You have a good reason, Kid. You gave me the chance to show the world what kind of man I am. I know I'm a better man than what I've been up to now and I know to be the best man I can be, I need you right beside me. I'm gonna give you the same chance to show the world what kind of man you are. Nickersen and I have a plan. It's a good plan but it will take time. Your part of the plan is to do what you have to do to survive. You have never let me down and I won't let you down. You're gonna walk back out that godforsaken door and show that you're worthy of respect and of a chance to live the life you're capable of. The most important thing to do right now is to stay alive…"

"Is it?" L1314 stared into the familiar eyes and whispered the ultimate question.

"I don't know what's going on in here, what they're doing to you, but I know you. I know you're strong enough to walk out of the desert and you're strong enough to walk out of here." Heyes let Curry look deep into his mind to see the truth that Heyes believed and needed Kid to believe as well.

Heyes brought his right hand around and lightly placed it over Curry's heart, inwardly dismayed when the Kid flinched at his touch. "I think of you every day, Jed. I carry you in my heart. Carry me in your heart. No one can take that away from us, no matter what. Whatever happens or did happen will not change what we feel. Don't let them rob you of yourself. You remember, when times are dark and you think you can't go on, I am counting on you to be my partner for life and I am not ready to throw in the cards. Together, we survived whatever life has thrown at us. Even if we are apart now, we can be together in spirit. Survive and we have a future side by side, Jed. Please."

Brown head against bald head, brown eyes met blue, time stopped and an understanding passed between them as the essential connection was renewed. Heyes cautiously hoped the spark of stubbornness he saw rekindled in his partner's eyes could be sustained in the dark times still to come, until once again they could be partners, moving forward in life together.

A subtle cough that was not emanating from Curry interrupted the two ex-outlaws. Heyes rose from his crouch but slid his right hand up Curry's chest to rest on the Kid's bony shoulder and stood next to him. Heyes looked expectantly at Nickersen, who had resumed standing. Curry for the first time since he entered the room looked straight ahead.

"I am sorry to interrupt but there are a few things that we still need to cover before our time is up," Nickersen apologetically stated then continued to outline the plans, explain the papers on the table and tried to impart all the information that his client would need to know.

All too soon for Heyes' liking the door rattled open and the young redheaded guard he met earlier entered, accompanied by an older, stocky, bad-tempered looking guard.

"Time's up, Gould's outside and will escort you gentlemen back to Reception," Riggs announced.

Heyes wasn't about to leave without getting some questions of his own answered. He demanded, "Why is he in chains? Why that collar? What do you expect him to do?"

"L1314 is held under maximum security precautions. He has physically assaulted prison guards, most recently broken a guard's nose. He has been declared a violent offender and will remain in chains until the warden decides otherwise." Riggs answered.

Riggs just about finished talking when Heyes fired another short volley of questions. "He sounds like he's sick and he looks hurt. Has he seen a doctor? What did the doc say? Is he staying in the infirmary?"

"Violent offenders are not allowed to stay in the infirmary unless they are gravely ill. The doctor is tending L1314 in his cell while he is furloughed from work details. L1314 has a broken rib, bruised kidneys so he's pissing blood and is getting over a mild case of pneumonia but…I do not have to answer any more of your questions." Riggs stopped, looking extremely annoyed at himself for automatically answering the outlaw's questions.

O'Reilly, who had remained silent, was shaking his head to himself, finding it amusing that the outlaw leader had a way about him that unconsciously commanded Riggs to do what he bid. O'Reilly could see how the two partners made a formidable team.

"You may not have to answer any more questions but you do have to free my client's hands in order for him to sign the required paperwork," Nickersen spoke up.

O'Reilly looked at Riggs, who gave a curt nod to go ahead and do as requested by the lawyer. While Riggs glared at Heyes, O'Reilly unlocked the collar around L1314's neck then unlocked the right cuff, leaving the left around the wrist. L1314 brought his arms slowly around to his front, which started another coughing spasm, but at least he could brace his rib with his hand.

Nickersen laid out the documents Curry needed to sign, which only took a few moments to complete. Curry stood and started to sway. Heyes and O'Reilly both reached out to steady him, their eyes meeting across the Kid. Heyes nodded his gratitude. Riggs relocked the cuffs around the prisoner's wrists. The guards guided the inmate out of the small interrogation room, chains rattling and coughing echoing down the hallway.

Gould poked his head around the corner into the room. "Ready to go?" Nickersen packed up his papers as Heyes stepped into the hallway and stared unhappily down the corridor. He was unsure if he had given the Kid a good enough reason to make it through more than he thought he could. Heyes hoped so, but didn't know and that worried him even more than he had been before the visit.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter Twelve**

 _ **March 1884**_

"Three hundred and sixty-eight, three hundred and sixty-nine, three hundred and seventy, three hundred and seventy-one," a ragged voice whispered in the dark as an index finger slid along the line of bricks towards the top of a wall in the tiny, cold, dark room, coming to a stop at a corner. The finger slid upward and the rest of the fingers extended from the palm as the hand flattened against the wall.

"Three rows down, remember, three rows down," muttered the voice.

The hand started to slide down the rough brick wall when the prisoner, whose hand it was, slowly sunk to the stone floor and rested his head against the cold bricks, facing into the corner.

It wasn't long before he started to shiver in the cold dampness emanating from the bricks and stone surrounding him. He pulled the thin prison jacket tighter around him then winced from the increase in pressure on the days old welts and lacerations criss-crossing his back. He did not know how many days it had been since he was dragged and thrown into the tiny, dark space. He did not know how many days left to his confinement of fifteen days. How many more days of relative safety. The inmate wondered if he was going insane as he struggled to his feet and turned away from the corner. He put out his hands for support, one on each side until they made contact with the walls as he fought the dizziness that swept over him. In here, no one touched him.

In here, he was safe, didn't have to worry who was entering his cell in the middle of the night. In here, he could vent his anger with no one to hear. In here, he lived in his memories with nothing to distract him. In here, he opened the door to his heart that he kept locked tight out there, and let Heyes' spirit talk to him. He depended on Heyes' voice to show him the way to survive, like a beacon in the dark, and it didn't get any darker than the last eight months.

He did what he needed to do to survive and yet be able to live with himself. Captain Munch continued to demand his special privileges. He fought back every time, not allowing anyone the illusion he was a willing participant in the activity. Very few others participated after they were confronted with the reality of what they were actually doing. He could not control what they did to him but he could control how he responded and that was only reason he was still holding on to his last chip. The chip Heyes had given him, hope.

Hope and anger were two warring and complementary forces in his life. Anger had given him strength to go on. Hope provided the will to go on. Hope had prompted him to seek out Heyes when loneliness threatened to overwhelm him as an older adolescent. Hope that Heyes would give him a second chance to prove himself worthy of Heyes' friendship and trust had led him to join the Devil's Hole Gang. Hope for a normal future, to put down roots and raise a family, had proved to be a powerful lure during the two years he and Heyes had struggled to prove themselves worthy of amnesty. He had lost hope, despaired of ever being able to have a normal life, and believed himself to be a danger to Heyes thereby, robbing Heyes of his hope for a bright future. Prison sucked hope right out of a body on the first day, erected iron barriers and used fatigue, starvation, humiliation and isolation to keep it out.

He had looked into Heyes' eyes through to Heyes' heart and saw hope when he was ready to give up on life. Heyes still nurtured the hope and belief in a future together. Heyes had not despaired. The convict clutched the proffered lifeline and realized that in doing so he was strengthening Heyes' chance as well as his own for a worthwhile future. He would continue to cling to that hope for as long as he could. He would try his best to survive, to be able to walk out when Heyes accomplished his mission. He had complete faith in his partner; he was less certain about his ability to live life again, not to merely exist and survive. He was no longer a man in his eyes and didn't know how Heyes would react if Heyes ever found out what he had done. A wife and children for him was a hope that was extinguished forever; no woman would want him now. He hoped what was left of him was enough.

The dizziness passed and he took a tentative step forward in his stocking feet. The sound of the chain on stone barely registered in his mind. The slaps, scrapes, and clanks the chain connecting his ankles made had become background noise, connected subconsciously with the act and sounds of walking. After wearing leg irons continuously for eight months, if he concentrated, he could separate the sounds and sensations from remembered walking sounds and movements, but mostly he accepted the iron restraints as his normal. Four paces forward, stop, turn to the right, two paces, stop, turn right, four paces, being careful to shuffle his feet on the last pace in order to locate the waste bucket and not knock into it, stop, turn to the right, two paces and start all over again, and again, and again. He paced for hours, clockwise then counterclockwise, in an effort to generate heat. When he could no longer continue, he slumped to the floor, leaning against the wall.

Waking - at least, he assumed he was awake - sometimes it was hard to tell, he felt a tickling sensation about his nose and mouth. The prisoner's lips twitched and the tickling stopped. Several moments later he detected movement in his beard. Number three dark cell had a tiny mouse hole in the corner behind the waste bucket that he discovered on an earlier confinement. He had taken to placing several beans from his meal behind the bucket. The small rodent was becoming bolder and had decided to investigate the occupant of the room. The mouse followed the smell of food to a possible source and was now busily poking his nose about searching for more beans among the coated hairs of the inmate's beard and mustache.

"Sorry, little mouse. I don't have any more food to give you. I ate it all," the inmate whispered, trying not to move his lips.

"I'll save you some more tomorrow, or maybe it's already tomorrow and I'll save you some today."

The mouse stopped its activity. The inmate opened his palm along the floor and felt the animal scuttle across the back of his hand, stop and sniff before running back to its hole.

"Don't go. I won't hurt you little mouse," the prisoner entreated.

He sat up slowly, pushing himself up with his arms in the effort to not use the muscles of his torso. He would save a few beans for behind the bucket as usual but would also save a few in his pocket for later. His uniform was filthy with blood, sweat and dirt; a little bean juice wouldn't matter. Perhaps he could coax the mouse to eat out of his hand. He smiled at the thought of a pet, even if it was a mouse.

His aches and pains from lying on the cold stone made themselves known in earnest along with the constant throbbing in his back. He got on his knees, waited until he was steady and then rose slowly to his feet. Sliding the flat of his hand along the corner until his fingers touched the ceiling, he counted three rows of bricks down. He curled his fingers in and extended his index finger to rest on the first brick abutting the corner of the second row from the top.

"Three hundred and seventy-two, three hundred and seventy-three, three hundred and seventy-four, three hundred and seventy-five…"

* * *

 _ **April 1884**_

Nickersen had thoroughly reviewed Jedediah Curry's prison record before speaking with his client. He read though the discipline record first, as that was of primary interest to the Office of the Pardon Attorney's representatives, but also glanced at the medical record before going back to read that particular section a second time more slowly. He wondered if he should arrange to speak with the prison physician. Nickersen now had a better understanding of his client's behavior in relation to what was his reported behavior and personality prior to prison. It also explained the physical deterioration in evidence as well as his mental state. Nickersen, who had gained a large amount of respect for Hannibal Heyes during the months since Heyes had first walked into his office, now was willing to give credence to what those who knew Kid Curry personally reported. There was strength of character attached to the fast draw.

"Jed, anything discussed by us is privileged communication. Privileged communication is also extended to certain documentation and interactions between lawyers, doctors and their clients. Certain types of information that may be in your file may not be shared publicly during the pardon process. That information is yours and yours alone to share, or not share, as you see fit." Nickersen watched the panic and shame in Curry's blue eyes turn into tentative trust as Curry read the sympathy and respect that Nickersen was projecting.

"So, to summarize our discussion today, we can say things are proceeding nicely. I must reiterate how surprised I am that we have received notification that the Office of the Pardon Attorney has accepted your application for review so quickly. I also want to stress that even though your application is being reviewed that does not guarantee success. Don't lose hope; I do believe a pardon is possible; it just might not be possible on the first review."

"Now, as I stated earlier, since you are a high profile prisoner, they will most likely conduct interviews with many, if not all, persons who submitted affidavits of character and letters of recommendation on your behalf. They will also interview Lom Trevors and your partner as sponsors. The investigators will contact me for any additional information or documentation needed. Lastly, a representative will review your prison record and conduct a personal interview before submitting their recommendation to the President. I will be present for the record review and the interview. Do not let the prison authorities bully you out of your legal rights, do you understand?" Nickersen sat forward in his hard wooden seat and reached across the table to place his hand on his client's shoulder but withdrew it quickly when he realized how Curry might react.

"Yes, sir, I understand," Curry replied, nodding his head.

Curry sat bound in a similar fashion as in the first encounter that he had had with Nickersen. Nickersen thought he looked, thinner, paler, not acutely ill but not well either. At least this time, if his client was not exactly loquacious, he was at least attentive and answered when asked a direct question.

The only time during the entire meeting that Kid Curry showed any emotion was at the beginning when Nickersen relayed the messages Heyes had made him memorize. Curry had asked him to tell Heyes that he hadn't stopped putting one foot in front of the other and wouldn't until he met up with Heyes at the waterhole. At Nickersen's puzzled look, the Kid had actually smiled a very small, fleeting smile before assuring Nickersen that Heyes would know what he meant.

The guards banged the door open and announced time was up. One guard unlocked the iron collar and rearranged the handcuffs on L1314 while the other paid close attention to Nickersen as he packed up his portfolio. The two guards were unfamiliar to the lawyer but the third poking his head in the door was the unfriendly Gould from reception.

Gould escorted Nickersen down the whitewashed corridor where Hannibal Heyes was pacing at the very farthest he was allowed to go. Heyes stood still and looked around Nickersen and Gould to glimpse his partner's back as he was being led in the opposite direction.

"Turn Kid. Look behind you. Please, Kid, turn around, just for a moment." Heyes willed.

L1314 steps faltered and he took a half-step around to suddenly look behind him. The partners' eyes locked and a silent conversation took place. L1314 was jerked back around by a strong arm at his elbow and started shuffling again further into the recesses of the dim, quiet prison.

Heyes and Nickersen walked, their footsteps echoing, down the corridor. They exited out the arched heavy wooden door and into the bright spring sunshine. The two men stepped into the buggy, Heyes taking the reins and started towards Laramie.

"Well, did you tell him everything I asked you to? What did he say? How did he look?..."


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter Thirteen**

 _ **June 22 1884**_

Heyes sat in the comfortable leather armchair facing Richard Nickersen's large desk. He glanced around the room, taking note of the generalized disorder while waiting for Nickersen to return. Papers were stacked in piles on the credenza along the back wall; more papers were strewn seemingly haphazardly across the top of his desk. One drawer of the wooden file cabinet was partially open with a thick folder sticking up, preventing the drawer from closing. Heyes thought Nickersen should really let Estelle have a day in this room without Richard's interference, but he knew the attorney well enough now to know that when Nickersen was in the midst of a big trial, the office was off limits to his kindly, efficient secretary. Heyes could see an office belonging to his partner looking similar; tidiness was not one of Kid Curry's virtues.

Heyes was startled out of his reverie by the booming voice of the sandy-haired attorney.

"Thanks for stopping by, Heyes. I'm sorry I left the papers in the office and didn't have them last night at dinner." Nickersen greeted his visitor from the doorway.

"It's no problem. I was only a few streets away getting everything organized in my new office. I'm still amazed that I have an office. The closest I ever came to an office was a roll top desk at Devil's Hole. Thank you, Richard; if it wasn't for all the work you and your friends have steered my way over the last several months, I couldn't even think of opening my own business. I only hope that the Pardon Attorney Office investigator thinks that a fledgling investigative and security agency is a respectable enough occupation for Kid and me." Heyes rose and shook Nickersen's offered right hand, wincing a little at the big man's strong grip.

"I have the partnership papers right here for you to sign. I don't know how I let you talk me into doing this but I will sign as power of attorney for your partner. When he is released, we can refile the paper work, if necessary. You are sure you want to follow through with a partnership instead of a sole proprietorship? Your partner's release is far from guaranteed, although things are looking surprisingly good." Nickersen rooted around a stack of folders on top of the file cabinet until he extracted the one he was looking for.

"Yeah, Richard, I'm sure. You gotta have faith. Kid's going to get his pardon and together we're going to build the best damn detective and security agency in the west. Mr. Bannerman will wish that he hired us instead of chased us," Heyes replied confidently.

Nickersen laid out the papers to be signed and sighed as he thought to himself about what had happened to the Hannibal Heyes who was famous for playing the odds, because the odds for Kid Curry's pardon after serving approximately a year of a lifetime prison term weren't good. When Nickersen meant progress was better than expected he meant that the application wasn't rejected immediately and at some later date the pardon might be granted. He had explained that to Heyes but Heyes just explained back that betting the odds didn't always apply to his partner.

Nickersen handed Heyes a pen and refrained from commenting on Heyes' optimism. "Think you can still sign your name, Heyes?" Nickersen chuckled, then continued "I want to thank you again for coming to dinner last night, then making my son the hero of the hour with all his friends. I knew they were going to ask you to autograph their dime novels but didn't realize they were going to bring their entire collections, not just one novel apiece. I'm sorry about that."

Heyes flexed his fingers in front of Nickersen, "See they all work, although, I'll admit my hand was cramping up by the time I was done. I hadn't realized how many dime novels they had written about us. Kid reads them and laughs his head off at the ridiculousness of our supposed exploits when he isn't getting annoyed with how the author is glorifying the gunplay. A gun is not a toy and using one is never play to either of us. If they wrote about how things really were for us, they'd never sell any of 'em. Still, there were quite a few that I'll bet he's never heard of, maybe when he gets out, Tommy would let him borrow some."

The two men signed the documents that Nickersen would file at the County Clerk's Office making Hannibal Heyes and Jedediah Curry legal business partners.

* * *

Heyes opened the wooden door sandwiched between the two commercial businesses occupying the first floor of the recently built three story brick building along a tidy Denver Street. His boot heels clicked on the clean black and white tile foyer as he took three steps over to the inside door, which he unlocked and entered. Heyes slowly climbed the narrow wooden staircase to the second floor landing, his body slouching once he was out of the public eye. He took a second key and unlocked the door on the right of the little landing and entered his apartment. He stood just inside the door and let his eyes sweep around his surroundings. There wasn't much to look at. When all your worldly possessions fit into a set of saddlebags, moving in was easy.

The apartment was located over the office space he had rented for his agency; the owner had offered a good deal for the package. It was certainly a convenient arrangement. To the right, along the street, there was a front parlor and the larger of the two bedrooms. To the left, along the back, were the kitchen/dining area and the smaller of the bedrooms. Directly across from the "front" door and down the hall was a luxury for Heyes, a water closet complete with indoor plumbing. The apartment was furnished with a mixture of new and hand-me-down furnishings. He had reluctantly accepted a settee, chairs and two tables for the parlor from Audrey Nickersen, who adamantly insisted she wanted to redecorate; this just gave her an acceptable excuse to do so. Clementine Hale had provided curtains, pictures and linens. Georgette Sinclair graciously donated dishes and pots and pans, saying she didn't cook much so they were hardly used. Heyes had bought a table and chairs, lamps and bedroom sets for the two bedrooms.

The ex-outlaw walked across the parlor and entered his bedroom. Heyes had debated which one to take for himself, finally deciding on the larger front bedroom. He had the larger leader's bedroom at Devil's Hole and Kid would expect him to have the same here. He threw his hat on the dresser and threw himself across the feather mattress of the large dark wood bed. He was so tired from lack of sleep, the previous night he slept even less than usual, but after an hour of lying there with an arm over his eyes, Heyes realized a nap was not in the cards at the moment. He wandered out and opened the door to the unoccupied second bedroom but did not enter it. Here was the crux of the problem.

Heyes finally had a permanent place of residence, an address, a home. Home was the word that was used to describe a place of habitation that someone occupied on a daily basis and by that definition, Heyes supposed the apartment could be called home. He had once called the ramshackle cabins of Devil's Hole home. He and the Kid had left the safety and security of the Hole and become homeless. But he realized very quickly after moving in that the endless succession of hotel rooms he had occupied when they were on the run felt more like a home than the apartment did.

He stared at the brass bed he bought because it reminded him of the one Kid used at Devil's Hole and took in the gun belt hanging from the bedpost. He arranged his partner's things to allow the illusion Kid lived there because Heyes associated home with the Kid, not with a place of residence. All that was missing was clothes dropped randomly around the pristine room. Even if Heyes scattered everything Kid owned around the room, he still knew the illusion would not make it real.

The emptiness of the apartment was depressing, especially on this day; Heyes turned from the bedroom door and walked into the kitchen, grabbed a whisky bottle from the counter, a glass from the cupboard and left the apartment. He descended the narrow staircase, exited onto the boardwalk and unlocked the door of The Heyes and Curry Agency, Investigations and Security, Best in the West, locking it behind him.

The new official investigator crossed the neat and tidy reception area and entered the inner spacious office. He set the bottle down on the desk with the small stack of folders in the middle and lit the office lamp to dispel the darkening gloom. A quick glance around the room satisfied his need to verify that everything was as he left it. The investigator sat at his new desk, picked up the top file and started to read over his notes. Heyes frowned in thought. He knew he was missing some small but essential detail and for the hundredth time since embarking on this career path, wished for his missing security expert and practical partner to talk things over with.

Curry was the ideal listener. He let a body talk, yet paid attention and assimilated all that was being said. He frequently asked the hard questions or supplied a different viewpoint that was essential to the success of the pair's endeavors. Heyes was successful in the jobs he had undertaken but knew without a doubt, had the Kid been at his side, they would have been solved in a shorter amount of time and with less wasted effort. Heyes might be the visionary planner but he tended to get bogged down in details. Curry excelled in logistics; he was the guy who got things done and kept Heyes focused on what was important and realistic, which gave Heyes just one more reason to miss his partner's presence.

Heyes had poured himself a whiskey, drunk it quickly, poured another and was deep in thought staring at the empty desk across from his. He envisioned Kid's desk looking like Nickersen's this afternoon and wished he could chide the Kid about his organizational habits for what Kid considered nonessential matters. His gun cleaning kit on the other hand was … A persistent knocking on the door interrupted his melancholy thoughts and Heyes rose from his chair to investigate.

"All right, I'm coming," Heyes called out as he crossed the office to open the door.

"Clementine, what a surprise! It's good to see you but what are you doing here?" Heyes asked as Clem entered and threw her arms around Heyes to kiss him hello.

"I stopped by Nickersen's office looking for you and Estelle told me you might be here. I thought maybe we could go out for dinner tonight. It looks like you lost more weight. Are you eating Heyes?" Clementine stepped back a few steps, put the bag she was carrying down and studied her friend. Heyes definitely looked thinner, more drawn looking. The dark circles under his eyes were becoming a permanent feature, his face more lined and older looking than she ever recalled seeing.

"Come; give me a tour of your office. I haven't seen it since you officially opened for business," Clementine requested as she looked around.

"There isn't much to see, Clem, but right now you are standing in waiting area. Eventually we'll need a receptionist but now it's not necessary. That door to the right leads to a smaller office that is set up as a conference room but can be used for offices if needed." Heyes opened the door to the right and they peaked in to see a large table, chairs and some file cabinets.

"This is the main office." Heyes and Clementine walked into the large open room along the street with a generous picture window, the two desks, file cabinets, and various maps on the wall. Heyes sat at his desk and picked up the glass of whiskey, downed it in one gulp and poured another.

Clementine sat at the empty desk and casually moved the whiskey bottle over, out of Heyes' reach under the pretext of being better able to see him. In her opinion, Heyes was starting to imbibe a little too much and the whiskey only made him sadder or meaner with a sharper tongue. She was sure it wasn't accomplishing Heyes' goal of filling the hole in his life.

Heyes wouldn't talk about anything meaningful. If anyone asked, Heyes always replied he was fine. The business was fine, the apartment was fine, living in Denver was fine, and he was adjusting fine; no one believed him.

"So, tell me Heyes, any news regarding the pardon?" Clementine inquired conversationally with a big smile.

"The Pardon Attorney's Office has almost completed the interviews, according to Nickersen. I heard from Big Mac and Lom, who both say they thought it went well. Harry Briscoe snuck by yesterday, he didn't want anyone from the B.D.I. seeing him enter a rival's office, and he thought things went well also. I'm not sure how much I trust Harry's opinion though," Heyes chuckled.

"Do you know when they're going to get to you?" Clem asked.

"Yeah, I have an appointment with a Mr. Grey here next Tuesday morning." Heyes glanced at the calendar on the desk and then let his eyes sweep around the office.

"You're not nervous, are you? You'll do fine. You have a lot to be proud of, how you've turned your life around the last three years. Look at you now. You're on your way to being a successful business owner, not relying on poker for most of your income anymore. You've done good, Heyes, and he'll see that."

"Thanks, Clem. I appreciate that. Nickersen and this Mr. Grey are then going out to the Prison to see Kid and review his prison record in early July. I'm not allowed to go. I'm worried about the record review. I don't think Kid's been exactly the model prisoner."

Clem didn't know how to respond to Heyes' comment as he was probably right to worry.

Clementine's smile slipped a little as she delved into her bag and brought out a brown paper-wrapped package and handed it across the desks to Heyes.

"Here's a house and office warming gift for you, Heyes."

Heyes took the package and looked questioningly into Clem's eyes, which suddenly started to glisten. He unwrapped the package and held the silver frame tightly in both hands while he stared in surprise at the picture. Heyes was looking at the only known photograph of Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry together.

"Clem, I don't know what to say," Heyes softly said as his finger traced the figure of his partner.

"Well, you're not wanted any longer so it doesn't do me any good anymore." Clem tried to make light of the gift but the effort was falling flat as her voice started to break.

"I thought, I thought, that you didn't have much to remember him by, that is, until Kid gets his pardon, and maybe the picture would help," Clementine stammered as she rose and came to stand behind Heyes, unconsciously rubbing his back.

The office became quiet as they both gazed at the photo of the three of them taken during a happier time. Each lost in thought.

Clementine loved them both. They were long-time good friends that she could always depend on if she needed to, blackmail notwithstanding. She always wondered though, if circumstances had been different, if her relationship with Kid Curry could have developed into something more. She worried how he was coping and try as she might, she could not imagine him surviving long with his spirit and body locked in a cage.

"It's his birthday today, you know. Thirty years old." Heyes interrupted Clementine's thoughts with what he had been wrestling with all day; he had been trying not to acknowledge the date and its significance.

"I know, Heyes, that's why I'm here. I didn't want you to be alone. Come to dinner with me, please." Clem came around now and sat on his desk placing her hands on his shoulders.

Heyes still held the photo and continued to speak as if he hadn't heard a word Clem said. "He didn't expect to live to see thirty. He said he carried his life around in his holster and someday, somewhere, there would be someone faster. He expected to meet his end in the middle of a dusty street in some no-name town. I was always afraid he would be right, but I never expected him to turn himself in."

"Clem, he considers prison worse than death. Do you know what it's like for someone to care enough about you to choose to slowly rot away so you can live to your fullest potential? You didn't see what four months in prison does to a man like Kid. It's been ten months now." Heyes reached around his friend and pulled the whiskey closer.

"Heyes, you don't need that." Clementine pushed the bottle away again and gently took the silver-framed photograph from Heyes' grip and lovingly stood it on Heyes' desk where he could see it, then slipped off the desk to her feet and firmly pulled Heyes up.

"Come on. Put the work away and let's celebrate Kid's thirtieth birthday, which he's still alive to see, and maybe by the time he's thirty-one he'll be sitting at this desk and you won't need the picture."


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter Fourteen**

 _ **Late June 1884**_

An early summer heat wave had arrived in Wyoming; the temperature and tempers were running high in the Wyoming Territorial Prison. The windows were open in the broom factory in the hopes of catching a nonexistent breeze. The prisoners and guards alike sweated in the sweltering afternoon heat and the men moved slowly and listlessly to complete their assigned tasks.

L1314 bent over, labeling a box of brooms destined for a general store in Sheridan, Wyoming. He straightened up and glanced at the large clock located on the wall above the door. It was almost time for him to make his rounds, checking the production numbers for each station and turning them in to the guard who acted as the factory foreman. He was grateful for the respite from the mindless drudgery of sanitation duty. The work also kept him less isolated and vulnerable consequently the anxiety he found hard to control was confined to the times he was locked in his cell. L1314 picked up the clipboard from his small desk at one end of the building and started to walk the floor, after sweeping his eyes from one end of the building to the other.

Curry performed his shipping/production clerk job in the broom factory with attention to detail that the foreman appreciated. It was L1314's reliability that prompted the foreman to request L1314 be assigned the clerk duties on a permanent basis. Captain Munch and Warden Hardston rejected his request repeatedly. There was more than one way to achieve an objective and if a frontal assault wouldn't work, the foreman tried a less direct approach.

The prison physician had a longstanding reputation for no-nonsense quality medical care. He didn't tolerate any malingering but if a prisoner was genuinely ill or injured, the doctor believed that he was entitled to the best medical care he could deliver regardless of the prisoner's offenses. As a result of his philosophy, the doctor was respected by prison personnel and prisoners alike. His orders were rarely contradicted, although they were sometimes restricted. L1314 had been a patient with serious health problems far too many times during his imprisonment for the medical man's liking so when the factory foreman approached him with a plan a few months ago, he was not averse to cooperating. Light duty became necessary for L1314 for the maximum time feasible.

The factory door opened and Captain Munch entered to survey the situation. The guards who had been standing around in small groups by the windows immediately started to make their rounds and show a little more enthusiasm for prodding the convicts to put more energy into their work. O'Reilly and Baker walked up the center aisle with O'Reilly checking the right stations and Baker checking the left.

O'Reilly stopped to watch a new convict, 72215, listlessly staring into space and tapped his shoulder to gain the prisoner's attention. The prisoner suddenly turned and lurched forth with unexpected energy to grab O'Reilly by the neck with strong hands. O'Reilly was taken by surprise and could only utter a small squeak as his face turned as red as his hair.

L1314 was counting the completed brooms at the next station when his mind registered the squeak and looked up. Instinct took over and Curry dropped the clipboard and lunged for 72215. The noise attracted the guards' and prisoners' attention as Curry tried to pull the convict's hands from O'Reilly's neck while whispering furiously into 72215's ear.

"Calm down now, or you'll trade a prison sentence for the gallows. There are plenty of guards who I'd like to ring their necks but O'Reilly ain't one of them. He's only doing his job. Munch just walked in. Stop it now! You don't know what you're doing. O'Reilly's one of the good guys!"

"Stop at once! Get on your stomachs, on the floor! Now!" shouted Riggs.

Riggs, who had been on the extreme right of the building, and Baker joined in the fray, subduing 72215 and L1314 both with the lashes they carried. 72215 let go of O'Reilly, who dropped to the floor, and Curry let go of 72215. Both swung out reflexively at the striking lash wielders and Curry groaned when he realized he had just punched Riggs. Once again, his temper and need to lash out overruled his good sense.

Baker knelt on the floor checking on O'Reilly, Riggs had a hold of L1314, and two nearby guards had 72215 pinned to the floor, cuffing his hands behind his back when Captain Munch stood before the group.

"Baker, take O'Reilly to the doc. You two, get 72215 to the warden's office." Munch issued orders and stopped to address the rest of the milling prisoners.

"The rest of you get back to work, and all quotas must be met or half rations for all for one week. If you work slowly you don't need to eat for energy." Captain Munch faced Riggs, who had one arm around L1314's neck and his other hand twisting L1314's right arm behind his back.

"Well, well now, hitting guards again. I don't think we need to bother the warden this time. Twenty-four hours in the hot box will do. Riggs, keep L1314 here until I find replacement guards and then we'll escort L1314 to the box. Be back shortly." Munch winked at Riggs and walked towards the door.

O'Reilly, who was leaning on Baker, croaked as loudly as his abused throat would allow, "Captain, may I say something?" He went on without waiting for a response from Munch, who stopped to listen.

"Captain, L1314 may have saved my life. I couldn't breathe and he was first there to help. I don't think…" O'Reilly continued hoarsely.

"No, O'Reilly, it's my job to think. L1314 broke the rules against physical contact. He's well aware of the consequences of not following the rules. It's commendable for him to come to your aid, if that was indeed what he was doing, but he didn't drop to the floor when ordered and instead used his fists against a guard coming to control the situation. He'll be punished. Now you need to see the doctor," the captain curtly answered and strode out the door.

Baker continued to pull O'Reilly shakily to his feet and they both tried to convey their regrets to L1314 who met their looks with a knowing one of his own. L1314 knew exactly where he stood with the captain, Riggs, and the warden and did not expect anything different. In a way, Munch was right; Curry did know the consequences of his actions but he was prepared to accept them and endure pain and deprivation in order to keep a small piece of who he was intact.

* * *

The small group of L1314, Riggs, Captain Munch and the guard Curry thought of as Broken Nose, as a result of his desperate, lucky, past punch, walked to a wire-fenced enclosure located in full sun close to the West guard tower. L1314 stared at the closest of three corrugated metal three foot by three foot by four foot high square boxes. He detected a strong odor of lye, and noted a large metal drum labeled lye along with three rusty metal boxes and covers labeled one, two and three, opposite the metal hot boxes.

"Put your clothes and shoes in box number one, L1314," Munch ordered.

"What did you say, Sir?" Curry asked although he heard what Munch said.

"You heard me, you go in buck naked. Can't have you soiling your uniform now, can we," Munch growled back.

"Never seemed to mind how filthy it got before," L1314 muttered under his breath as he proceeded to disrobe after the leg irons had been removed, and dropped his things one by one into the rusty box. He glanced up and glared at the guards in the tower who were plainly laughing at his predicament.

Riggs had unlocked the padlock to the hot box and opened the tiny outdoor prison cell using the wooden handles. The smell of lye mixed with human waste became even stronger. All eyes now centered on L1314.

"Get in."

Curry decided if they wanted him in that sweat box, the guards were going to have to sweat a little themselves to get him in there. He wasn't feeling cooperative and stood immobile and expressionless. L1314 and Munch engaged in a staring contest and despite the months of physical and mental abuse heaped on Curry by the captain, Munch still wasn't a match for the former gunman.

In barely concealed annoyance, the Captain of the Guard indicated for the other guards to physically place L1314 in the hot box. A brief struggle ensued before the convict was shoved into the tiny metal box and the padlock secured. The guards wiped the sweat off their faces and shook burned hands as they closed the box holding the prisoner's clothes and exited the enclosure, locking the gate after them. They would be back in twenty-four hours; until then the guards in the guard tower would monitor the hot box from afar.

L1314 rapidly realized he was in for another test of endurance. He had survived heat and dehydration in the desert; he would survive again. He would go out fighting if it came to that, but he would never let Munch know how much the fight was costing him.

The sweat started to drip from his brow in the stifling heat as he acquainted himself with his new surroundings. The floor consisted of about one foot of hard baked dirt surrounding a worn wooden grate covering a pit. The pit was the source of the horrendous smell of lye and waste but Curry knew in time the odor would fade from his consciousness, as other concerns would take precedence. The structure was made of corrugated metal that was hot to the touch and burned his skin where the two came in contact. There was a single row of small holes punched along the top of the sides to admit light and air into the cramped space. The flat roof was high enough to allow the occupant to sit, crouch or kneel but not to stand. He was grateful they had removed the leg irons to allow for greater flexibility in movement but cynically realized the reason most likely had to do with not wanting to have the irons burn his legs if the heat became intense. He finally found the optimal position for the time being, sitting on the wooden grate with his arms circling his drawn up knees and his head resting on his arms.

* * *

The interminable night brought temporary relief from the oven-like conditions. The box prison cell cooled rapidly once the sun went down and L1314 started to shiver. There was no room to pace so he curled himself up to conserve body heat and rocked back and forth. One advantage to the coolness of the night was that he could now rest against the metal sides, allowing him to stretch his legs just a little bit more. Muscle cramps assaulted his lower legs that massaging only partially alleviated. Sleep was impossible.

Dawn sent rays of sunshine through the air holes to herald a change in torment. L1314 initially welcomed the increasing warmth but dreaded the hours to come. All too soon, the hot box resumed its mission to bake the occupant alive. L1314 moved away from the increasingly hot metal sides and huddled, crouched, knelt and sat on the wooden grate in a constant effort to keep numbness, tingling and cramps at bay. His mouth and throat were as dry as the dirt he was sitting on and his eyes started to burn as the tears dried up.

By early afternoon, he caught himself licking the sweat off his upper lip and arms in order to obtain moisture, any moisture. The muscle cramps were worsening and spread to both legs and arms. His mind drifted in time and space, as he could no longer maintain his concentration. He was so tired but could not find rest. Nausea assaulted his empty stomach.

The guards returned in late afternoon carrying a canteen and two full buckets of cold water. They unlatched the gate and unlocked the padlock. Captain Munch opened the hot box, then stood back.

L1314 was curled tightly on his side mumbling with slurred speech, "Do you hear that? I hear that. Can't find, can't find waterhole. Heyes, do you hear that? It's here. Heyes, can't find."

Riggs reached in, being careful not to touch the metal sides, and grabbed L1314's legs to pull him out into the sun. L1314's skin was flushed, dry and very hot. His eyes registered no recognition of his surroundings. The broken-nosed henchman and his cohort stretched the distressed prisoner out on the dirt, and then slowly poured the buckets of ice cold water over his entire body, concentrating on his head first. Stevens lifted L1314's head and poured water from the canteen into his mouth. L1314 swallowed greedily only to vomit moments later.

"Stevens, you better get the doc, it doesn't look like L1314 is going to revive too easily. The rest of you drag him to his cell and Stevens will bring the doc there. Don't forget his stuff from the box, but don't waste time trying to get him dressed," Munch instructed while staring down at the prisoner he considered a menacing thorn in his side.

No matter what Munch did to him, L1314 endured. The gunman without his gun or the muscle without the brains proved to be a man who did not need props or others to prove his worth. The more L1314 endured the more the fellow convicts noticed and drew strength from his example. It infuriated Captain Munch and Warden Hardston that this criminal did not conform to expected prisoner behavior, nor could they dismiss him as a violent hardcase.

Captain Munch thought the battle of wills was won months ago when L1314 seemed ready to fade from existence. The legally-allowed visit from the attorney and his partner's slick twisting of the law to insinuate himself into that visit had somehow enabled the beaten man to find an inner reserve. Had L1314 died then, it would not have caused issues within the prison. However, the passing of L1314 now would forever confer martyr status to the undeserving convict among the prisoners and more disturbingly to a growing number of the prison guards themselves. No, Munch needed him alive until L1314 was reduced to insignificance.

* * *

The door to cell 314 stood ajar and unnoticed as the two men struggled to revive the third in the small space. The doctor issued orders for buckets of cold water to be brought as quickly as possible and cursed the foolishness of the prison authorities for the edict that allowed L1314 to be treated in the infirmary only if his life was in grave danger. It was in grave danger now, if he couldn't get his body temperature down quickly but they couldn't afford the extra time moving him.

"How long was he out there, Stevens? Do you know if he was allowed a water break before this happened?" The doctor grilled the guard.

"Only twenty-four hours doc, and I don't know if he was dry before he went in. I wasn't assigned to the broom factory yesterday, I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault, Stevens. The debilitated condition L1314 is already in would make the dehydration more severe and make him more prone to heat stroke. Munch should have known that." The doctor looked at Stevens to make sure he understood.

The doctor was steadily dribbling water down the prostrate man's throat while Stevens was soaking a sheet in one of the buckets of water that was deposited just inside the cell door. The doctor dismissed the guards but asked Stevens to stay. The two of them laid a cold wet sheet on the floor and placed L1314 on it, then wrapped him tightly. When that was done, Stevens wrapped the prisoner's head with a cold wet towel.

"I think he's responding, his pulse is coming down," the doctor said as he withdrew his fingers from Curry's neck.

"Keep the sheet and towels wet, Stevens."

The doctor and Stevens worked in silence for a while, coaxing Curry to swallow and keeping him wrapped in the wet cooling sheets and towels. Gradually L1314 became aware of his surroundings, blinking his eyes and reaching for the canteen.

"Water," Curry croaked as he tried to sit up.

"Easy now, take it slow," the doctor directed as he kept hold of the canteen.

Stevens helped sit L1314 up and leaned him against the cell wall.

"Doc? Doc, may I ask a question, Sir?" a voice disturbed the quiet cell tier.

The doc handed Stevens the canteen and indicated he would be right back, then walked out the cell to see who was addressing him. Lucas stood gripping the adjoining cell bars, looking in the direction of cell 314.

"Yes, 151313, you have a question?" The doctor looked curiously at the neighboring prisoner.

"Is he gonna be all right?" 151313 asked.

"It was close, but I think so. He'll be weak and sick for a few days. He has some superficial burns to his skin that will heal soon enough. He'll need continued unlimited access to water and to be kept relatively cool as well but yes, he'll be okay." The doctor contemplated the inmate at the bars. He looked genuinely concerned. It was very unusual for an inmate to ask about a fellow prisoner unless they were assigned to work in the infirmary.

"I wonder why you ask, is there a particular reason?" the doctor probed. 151313 hesitated, and gestured for the doctor to come closer.

"Can I talk, I mean, you're not gonna run and tell the guards what I say, are ya?" he whispered.

"It depends upon what you say, but I think you know what inmates tell me usually stays between us." The doctor held 151313's uncertain eyes before he bent his head closer to the bars.

"He calls me Lucas. To everyone else in this place I'm 151313, have been for years. Curry asked me my name when I was sick once and said good night. Every night since, if he's in his cell, he manages to say, good night, Lucas. Every morning he squeezes my shoulder hello. If I didn't walk out of this cell, I think he's the only one that would care. I got drunk one night, got into a fight and accidentally killed a man. I'm paying for that now. Serving my term don't mean I'm nobody, just a number. My name is Lucas, doc, and he's the only one who used it for years, so yeah, I care if he's gonna make it," Lucas very quietly stated with conviction.

"I'm not going to ask how you manage to talk, but don't worry, Lucas, I'll do my best to keep him alive."

A look of understanding passed between the convict and the doctor before the doc returned to his patient to follow through on the promise he just made.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter Fifteen**

 _ **Early July 1884**_

Riggs and O'Reilly lounged against the corridor wall outside the interrogation room, walking over to the narrow open window for a breath of fresh air every now and then. They debated about finding two chairs but decided against it since the warden had taken to passing by at least once an hour and it had been three passes already. Riggs had tried listening at the door to no avail. He could hear low murmurings but could not make out the words. There was a sudden knocking from the inside of the door that caused both guards to spring to attention. Riggs unlocked the door and came face-to-face with the federal government attorney.

"We're taking a break. Please unlock the restraints on Mr. Curry and let him stretch. We should be back within a half hour," Mr. Grey, the Pardon Attorney's Office lawyer stated as he walked out of the small hot room followed by Richard Nickersen.

The two attorneys strode a short distance down the hall when Mr. Grey stopped and turned to Curry's lawyer.

"Nickersen, if your client continues to refuse to explain his behavior adequately, I can hardly proceed with a favorable recommendation. The affidavits and letters of recommendation by the people who knew Mr. Curry before he surrendered describe a very different man than what the prison record says. Which is the real Jedediah Curry? Why should the President take a gamble at this time? Perhaps in five years we can conduct another review. I came here prepared with an open mind, despite his infamy, but he is not giving me anything to work with. I suggest you speak with your client in private before I get back."

Nickersen stood watching the ordinary-looking man with extraordinary power over his client's future continue to walk down the hall. He understood Curry's reluctance to talk but needed to show that the two very different versions of the man depicted in the various different sets of documents were indeed the same man and that this man was worth the gamble.

He ran his hands through his sandy hair and wished Heyes was here. Nickersen walked over to the window and looked at the bleak quiet prison yard beyond. He ran over his few options. There were even less choices if he kept to the tenets of privileged communication and honored Curry's wishes. The circumstances could be deduced by reading between the lines, evaluating the medical report and the nonverbal behavior of his client, but the Pardon Attorney's Office representative needed corroboration instead of conjecture. There were multiple disciplinary actions and a total of eighty-five days out of eleven months spent in solitary confinement to explain. Nickersen asked as many leading questions as he dared but Curry had steadfastly kept his mouth shut, only offering the barest minimum by way of explanation. In fact, Nickersen thought, the more questions he asked the more reticent Curry became; he was watching his client regress during the interview to a state similar to their initial encounter.

The problem of corroborating testimony was a thorny one. Nickersen wished the pardon process allowed for formal judicial proceedings. Witnesses could be subpoenaed and questioned; even hostile witnesses could be made to testify under penalty of perjury. The doctor indicated his willingness to speak with the investigator when Nickersen spoke with him on a prior visit, but unfortunately the doctor was not present at any of the incidents and could only speak regarding the medical consequences. Curry had never shared or volunteered information that could be used and even if he had, the physician was bound by the privileged communication rules which Curry was unspokenly holding them to. His hands were frustratingly tied.

Nickersen turned from the window, shoulders squared, ready to try to talk sense into his client. Whatever Curry was keeping to himself, and Nickersen had a very good idea of what that was, it was not worth his life. Each time he saw his client, Curry looked worse. He would never tell Heyes, but if the pardon was not successful at this review, he doubted Jedediah Curry would be alive for another review. Again, he wished for Heyes' presence; he seemed to be the only one able to reach Curry, even if all he did was stand at the end of the hall. As the attorney started for the door, his eyes met the green eyes of the younger guard who was staring at him meaningfully from the doorway. Nickersen perceived the guard wanted to talk with him but was hesitant. His mind worked furiously as he neared the interrogation room and he nodded to the guard when he entered, the door clicking closed softly behind him.

L1314 was standing next to his chair shackled at the wrists and ankles. The chains rattled, breaking the silence in the room as he tried to stretch the kinks out of his shoulder muscles when the blond attorney appeared before him. He knew what Nickersen was trying to accomplish with his questions. He even understood the ramifications of his purposefully obtuse answers. He just couldn't make himself reveal how completely he was being dominated. It wasn't that he didn't desperately want a pardon, he did. He was holding on to the hope Heyes had given him even in the face of nearly impossible odds. If Heyes believed it was possible, then he would too. However, he was in a constant struggle not to hate himself for what he had become; L1314 didn't know if he could live with himself if everyone knew that Kid Curry was emasculated in every way.

"Jed, you're not telling us everything. Whatever it is you're hiding, is it worth staying in prison for?" Nickersen asked compassionately.

"I'm not hiding anything," Curry stated, his pale face expressionless.

"Do you know how unusual it is for the government to even accept your pardon application for review this early in your sentence? Jed, if you don't offer a better explanation for your supposedly ill adjustment to prison life and inability to follow rules and regulations, then we're looking at possibly five or more years before the Pardon Attorney's Office will conduct another review. Do you think you can take five more years here?" Nickersen held Curry's eyes, trying to reach past the shield the Kid had erected.

Nickersen had one last card to play. "What am I going to tell your partner? You may think Heyes is doing fine, and outwardly he is. Inwardly he's just like you, holding everything in. People who knew you before say he's not the same man without you by his side. He's merely going through the motions of living and not enjoying life. Is that what you wanted for him?"

The blue eyes turned anguished for a heartbeat before Curry lowered his head and studied his shoes. In a voice, low and halting, Kid responded to Nickersen's stab to the heart, "No, I want him to have a good life, a life he deserves. If the pardon doesn't happen like the amnesty didn't happen, he'll survive. He's smart; he knows what he has to do. He'll bury me deep in his memory, like he's had to do before with other things from our pasts. He'll get over me and find a new, better best friend and partner, a wife, maybe some kids. He'll be alright."

Curry looked up quickly, looked Nickersen in the eye, begging for understanding, "I can't Richard, I just can't."

Nickersen had a tough ethical decision to make. Should he do what would be best for his client and follow the straightest path to a pardon or abide by his client's wishes for privacy?

"L1314, sit back in the chair, the investigator is coming back," Riggs ordered as he opened the door and stood in the doorway.

Riggs was relocking the collar on L1314 as Mr. Grey returned to conclude the pardon investigation. The two guards crossed to exit the interrogation room when Nickersen called out.

"Mr. Riggs, can you stay for a few moments? We have a few questions you might help us with."

Riggs stopped, turned and glanced back at the door before looking at Nickersen. "What kind of questions?"

Mr. Grey looked up at Nickersen quizzically but let him continue; the procedure was unorthodox but so far it stayed within the letter of the law.

"Since you have been assigned as Mr. Curry's guard for much of his time at the Wyoming Territorial Prison, you may be able to shed some light on questions regarding his adjustment to prison life. You are under no obligation to answer but I would wonder why, if you refuse to cooperate at all," Nickersen stated with an easy smile and friendly tone.

Riggs hesitated, looked hard at L1314 who had his head down; then nodded his consent as O'Reilly left the room and locked the door behind him.

O'Reilly was slightly confused as he leaned against the door. Riggs wouldn't tell them anything close to the truth. O'Reilly suddenly realized what the attorney was doing; he had understood O'Reilly's look. His heart started to pound in his chest and his palms started to sweat. He wanted to tell someone about the abuse Curry was subjected to but now that the opportunity was here, he wasn't sure he was ready to go through with it. Exposing the true events might cause him problems he wasn't prepared to deal with. He had been mulling over quitting his job at the prison but hadn't actually planned anything yet.

When he took the job as a prison guard, he thought he was keeping society safe from the criminals. He needed a steady income and he would be doing something good for the community. The bad guys were the prisoners and the good guys were the guards. He was able to delude himself this was always true up until L1314 arrived. Kid Curry was supposed to be one of the most wanted bad guys in the West. He and his partner committed numerous armed robberies, stole hundreds of thousands of dollars and Curry was a gunfighter as well. He had shot men dead. Stevens had pointed out that Curry might have killed men but he hadn't committed murder; his reputation was that he never drew first. There was the fact that even though they were thieves, the Devil's Hole Gang didn't rob individual people and finally there were persistent rumors of Heyes and Curry's underlying decency.

Almost a year of guarding L1314, of spending almost ten hours watching him day after day, changed his attitude towards Kid Curry and towards the prison system. The good guys weren't always good and in fact, some engaged in criminal behavior themselves, and the bad guys weren't always so bad. He didn't like how he changed without even realizing how hardened and cynical he became until L1314 forced his eyes open. O'Reilly took a deep breath, stood straight and waited his turn. He hoped his family would understand.

O'Reilly recognized Riggs' heavy hand banging on the door and unlocked the door with resignation.

"Mr. O'Reilly, would you please step in," Nickersen's kindly but commanding voice called from inside the room.

Riggs blocked the door for a moment and stared into O'Reilly's face, trying to gauge what O'Reilly would say. He muttered under his breath to colleague, "Keep your mouth shut about anything important. Don't worry about L1314; he hasn't said a thing. He didn't even look up the entire time I was in there. I'm going to send Gould to get the warden."

O'Reilly entered and glanced at the restrained L1314. He certainly looked like a properly passive prisoner and O'Reilly's resolve hardened. L1314 didn't deserve the treatment Munch and Hardston were coldheartedly subjecting him to. O'Reilly might not be a judge and jury, but he had given a lot of thought to crime and punishment over the last few months; in his opinion, the punishment did not fit Kid Curry's crimes. He would answer honestly; the consequences be dammed.

Riggs was impatiently looking up and down the corridor wondering what was taking Gould so long to locate the warden. It had been much too long if O'Reilly decided to talk. Riggs opened the interrogation room's door as soon as Warden Hardston hurriedly came down the hall. One look at the warden's face was enough to keep Riggs' mouth shut.

"What is going on here?" Warden Hardston demanded as the small man strode into the stuffy room.

Hardston spotted O'Reilly seated at the table and graced him with a withering look of warning. He then glanced over at L1314 in order to evaluate the possible damage while his mind reviewed the official wording of the disciplinary entries on the prisoner's record. Hardston was relatively sure he was on solid ground and as long as the guards wanted to keep their jobs there shouldn't be any problems. There was no love lost between Riggs and L1314, in addition, Riggs had been an active participant in the disciplinary sessions; however, there was suspicion that O'Reilly might be showing signs of having a conscience as well as becoming sympathetic to L1314. Hardston did know that O'Reilly had a young family and the prospects for steady employment in the area were few so he was relatively sure the young guard wouldn't jeopardize his livelihood. The warden calmed himself down and prepared to be the picture of a fair and firm administrator.

Mr. Grey immediately stood to intercept the warden and ease any misgivings the warden might express. He wanted Warden Hardston confident in his position and ignorant of what transpired within the four walls of the interrogation room. The attorney spoke in a little louder voice than was necessary, kept conversation going and moved so Warden Hardston would have his back to Curry if he didn't want to be rude to the federal official. There would be time enough to deal with what he learned once he returned to Washington. Mr. Grey did not want to place the petitioner in any greater danger than necessary until the President reviewed the pardon application.

O'Reilly moved to stand up and lifted his right hand to the guard's badge on his left chest. Nickersen grabbed him by the left wrist and firmly pulled him back down to the chair next to him.

"Now is not the time to resign, if that is what you're thinking of doing." Nickersen hissed in O'Reilly's ear. Nickersen indicated Curry, who had not moved or given any indication of interest in the proceedings since O'Reilly started talking but had withdrawn into himself, with a small nod of his head while holding O'Reilly's eyes with a steady gaze.

"I need you to do what you can to keep him alive. I think I can trust you. You leave and what will happen to him? Who will join Riggs?" O'Reilly followed the attorney's eyes to L1314 and knew he was stuck. It wouldn't be Stevens or even Baker that would join Riggs; it would be someone likely to agree with Riggs or more likely worse, if Captain Munch was in his usual mood.

Nickersen glanced at Grey and quickly went on in a low quiet tone, "I'm sure Mr. Grey or someone from the government will be in contact with you. What you have told us is very interesting to certain important people who are involved in prison and social reform but will be acted upon in due time. Thank you and watch yourself."

O'Reilly nodded his acceptance of the task Nickersen assigned him. It would not be easy; he would have to walk a fine line between giving the appearance of indifference to L1314's situation and taking action if it was necessary. The young redheaded guard wondered how he would keep Riggs and Munch from suspecting; maybe he could talk to Stevens. Stevens could be trusted to keep quiet and Stevens shared O'Reilly views.

"Thank you, warden, our business here is concluded. Mr. Curry is not in a talkative mood and Mr. Riggs and Mr. O'Reilly have explained the discipline record adequately. I was going to ask to interview additional witnesses, but I have enough information on which to base a recommendation. I appreciate you and your staff's cooperation." Mr. Grey was smiling as he gathered his papers, packed his portfolio and extended his right hand to the warden.

Nickersen gave one last look at Curry before walking out. He wanted to say something to encourage him to hold on, to say he understood but he didn't have the words. The urge to pat the man on the back in a show of support was strong but knew the touch would not be welcomed. For the third time that day, Nickersen wished Heyes was there with the indefinable connection the two men shared, to explain the need to come forth with what Curry had to be quietly enduring, to assuage the hurt, shame and fear that Curry must be experiencing, except that Heyes knew next to nothing of what was going on and Nickersen would leave the telling to Curry.

The two guards were preparing the prisoner for his walk back to work while the warden looked on. L1314 gave no indication of things having gone in his favor; in fact, his manner seemed more submissive than it had been for quite some time. The warden's anxiety receded; he was still ruler of his kingdom and he smiled as he walked back down the hall to his office.

* * *

Later that afternoon, Richard Nickersen and Mr. Grey waited inside the train station for their respective transport in opposite directions. The heat of the day was dissipating and the two men sat engaged in companionable small talk after sharing a drink and a late lunch in the hotel.

"I give you a lot of credit, Nickersen. You haven't asked me once what my recommendation will be and I know you have to be wondering." The ordinary-looking Mr. Grey looked sideways at the big blond lawyer as he settled himself on the hard bench.

Nickersen chuckled, "I'll admit I'm more than curious." He sat on the opposite bench facing the Pardon Attorney's Office representative and his demeanor became serious.

"I have represented many people in my career, some guilty, some innocent. When Hannibal Heyes walked in my office asking me to represent his partner, I'll admit I was intrigued by their reputations and the fact that the Governor of Wyoming sought fit to grant Heyes amnesty but bowed to the political pressure and consigned Curry to prison for life. I came to know Heyes and learned there is much to respect and admire. I know my client less well, mainly through Heyes' eyes and the people who wrote letters of recommendation or completed the affidavits of character. His amnesty sponsor, Lom Trevors, speaks plainly about his own initial doubts about Curry's ability to overcome his outlaw and gunman's ways. Trevors now persuasively argues on Curry and Heyes' behalf, and he passionately believes in both partners' ability to live life as honest citizens, that they have truly changed during their years in limbo. I believe their reform is genuine; all those affidavits and letters of recommendation show a man struggling with and overcoming his past, a man of fundamental decency worthy of a second chance. I can't see how keeping Jedediah Curry in prison for the rest of his life serves any other purpose but pure vengeance." Nickersen continued to examine Grey's face for any reaction but the man remained inscrutable.

"I suspected Curry was subjected to harsh treatment and possibly the kind of abuse that no one ever acknowledges happens but I didn't know for sure until today. I don't know about you but I can't imagine how I would cope with what he has been through. I don't think I could." Nickersen looked down at the floor for a moment in silent thought. When he raised his head, Grey was nodding his head in agreement.

"Unofficially, you understand, I will be submitting a favorable report. Mr. O'Reilly was very persuasive with his answers to our questions. Mr. Curry's reactions and his lack of verbal communication and evasive answers when he did speak during the interview were also understandable in the context of what we later learned. I cannot, however, guarantee the President will accept my recommendation. Jedediah "Kid" Curry remains an important prisoner and a commutation of sentence and pardon will surely make the national news. The President would be publicly taking a risk," Grey stated truthfully and somewhat apologetically.

"As you know, most of the applicants we deal with in the Pardon Attorney's office have already served their terms so my office doesn't have any authority within the prison system itself. I do know those that do have the authority to authorize investigations into the administration of individual prisons. Most investigations deal with abuse or diversion of funds but there are one or two of my colleagues in the Justice Department who are quite interested in prison reform. They also have newspaper contacts so I think I can find powerful men who would be interested in the goings on of the Wyoming Territorial Prison. Who knows what they might find?" Grey raised his hands from his lap and gestured out the door.

"Who knows, maybe Warden Hardston, Captain Munch and a few others might find out firsthand what Mr. Curry has experienced." Grey and Nickersen shared a sly smile.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter Sixteen**

 _ **Late October 1884**_

The thin detective paused in his rocking chair, slipped his left arm back into the sling that hung around his neck and half turned in his seat at the sound of the front door's squeak. He had been resting comfortably, with hot coffee laced with brandy and a good book, on the shady veranda of his host's home. Rosa, the housekeeper, had been checking up on him periodically all afternoon and attending to his needs. The detective satisfactorily closed a case that had taken several months of work and miles of travel to ultimately wind up in Texas. The culprit was safely in custody of a sheriff known to the detective from his former life, which made for an interesting encounter. A job successfully completed, looking good in front of a former adversary, in the company of a friend and being waited on hand and foot still did not bring peace of mind or happiness to the troubled man.

The middle-aged rotund host stepped onto the broad front porch and sited his guest. "Are you supposed to be out here all this time? How do you feel, Heyes?"

"I'm fine. The doc said the graze is healing well. It's really nothing to be concerned about," Heyes explained to Big Mac as he resumed slowly rocking his chair.

Mac appraised his ex-outlaw friend and thought, _you might say you're fine, but you sure don't look fine. You're too skinny. You aged about five years in the last year and your sense of humor has all but disappeared._ But he shared none of that with Heyes.

"You do know that you don't have to wait to get shot in Texas to stop by. You're welcome when you're well and don't need anything," the rancher replied sincerely.

"I would have thought now that you're not wanted, the bullets would fly less often. You shouldn't work alone. You need to get yourself a part...uhm, a trusted employee," Mac shut his mouth and walked to the railing, looking out towards the stables.

"What do you think of my new black stallion, Heyes?" Big Mac gestured at the corral with his unlit cigar, deliberately changing the subject from what he knew Heyes did not want to talk about, that of the missing partner. Mac had tried to broach the subject of Kid's pardon several times during the last few days only to be met with either one-word answers or rants on politics and the state of the justice system or as Heyes put it, the injustice system.

"He's a magnificent horse, Mac, should be a fine stud for your herd," Heyes responded truthfully but unenthusiastically. He crossed one booted long leg over the other and sighed. He was aware that people tended to tiptoe around conversations with him as they were afraid to bring up any subject that could relate to Kid. The only problem was that most everything could relate to Kid in Heyes' mind. He tried not to be irritable as he knew everyone meant well, but he just couldn't help the black moods and cutting sarcasm that he admittedly indulged in too frequently. He tried not to take it out on his friend and knew Big Mac missed the visits from his long-lost "nephew" but Kid wasn't around to act as a buffer for Heyes' moods.

Heyes knew he needed a partner, someone he trusted to watch his back. But there was only one man who had earned that level of trust and he was unavailable. Heyes had a strong drive to succeed, to prove the naysayers wrong, but most of all he needed to live up to his partner's expectations. Kid was enduring hardships Heyes could only guess at and if the detective agency didn't thrive and grow, the feelings of guilt Heyes felt would only increase. The frustration of not knowing how Kid was coping and not being able to do anything but wait for the decision of a man who was thousands of miles away and worlds apart in circumstance, was eating at him.

Heyes had had only one conversation with his cousin in over a year, which consisted of him doing all the talking and Kid saying just two words that chilled Heyes to his core. He managed one additional silent conversation for a grand total of a minute or two that did not do much to alleviate his anxiety. Heyes wrote numerous letters, never received a reply and finally abandoned the effort along with the unsuccessful monthly trips to the prison as an exercise in futility. Richard Nickersen was evasive during Heyes' questioning and no matter how much Heyes probed, all Nickersen would say is that prison wasn't jail, it wasn't pleasant, and it was punishment. The lack of specific information and details added to his growing concerns and frustrations.

The silence between the men on the porch stretched into an awkward length. Heyes felt he had to say something as he watched Big Mac finally light his cigar, still looking at the stallion prancing around the corral.

"I know I need somebody to help with the work, Mac. Once I know for sure if Kid is getting the pardon," Heyes lowered his voice and his eyes, "or not, I'll know what I have to do."

Mac tugged on the bottom of his vest, inhaled deeply on the cigar and turned to his friend. "I don't know what the holdup is. It's been months since that Mr. Grey was here. I've talked to my railroad colleagues who have agreed not to make a huge fuss about a pardon once I pointed out you haven't robbed a train in over three years now. In fact, there was even some talk about hiring the two of you for security consultations."

"Thanks, Mac, Nickersen thinks the long wait may be a good thing. It may mean that the President is waiting until after elections to grant the pardon. Even though he isn't up for election, President Arthur may not want any fallout for the Western politicians or his party's candidate, James Blaine. I'm so tired of our lives being ruled by politics but I can't do a damn thing about it." Heyes was rocking aggressively in his chair as his anger grew.

He had always been the patient one, the one who could keep his mind on the long-term goal but now he was growing increasingly impatient with interminable waiting. That thought brought a brief smile to his lips as Heyes recounted the many times his partner would state how much he hated waiting then pull his hat over his eyes and promptly fall asleep. Heyes never met another man who could fall asleep anywhere and anytime. He doubted Kid was napping to pass the time or that his sleep was peaceful. Heyes couldn't shake the feeling that they were running out of time and his smile turned into a frown.

* * *

 _ **November 1, 1884**_

L1314 stumbled, dropping the piss-pot he was carrying, and splashed the liquid contents all over the second tier iron walkway, the bottom of his striped pants and the shoes of his unforgiving guard. He scrambled to grab the pot before an even bigger mess was made.

"You've been wearing irons for over a year; you think you would know how to walk in them by now. Be more careful, convict," Riggs admonished.

Crack! The lash hit squarely across L1314's shoulders, knocking him flat to the ground. Riggs casually wiped first one shoe then the other on the downed man's shirt before giving him a swift kick in the side.

"Get up and get going, you're moving too slowly. There's a lot left to do and if you're not done, you can work through dinner right up until lock-up." Riggs watched L1314 to ensure his compliance with orders, then turned to lounge against the wall further down the walkway.

L1314 lay there in the puddle of piss and contemplated never getting up while he regained his breath. He unsteadily rose to his hands and knees and paused again. It was getting harder and harder to find the energy to keep going. He was so very tired. Fatigue had settled heavily into the very fibers of his being and numbed his mind.

"You heard Riggs, you're not hurt, get a move on," barked O'Reilly.

No, not seriously hurt, no serious injuries since the pardon official interviewed him, thought L1314. He couldn't remember exactly how long ago that interview was but knew it had been a few months. The seasons had changed. _God, I'm tired. I'm tired of waiting for a pardon that isn't going to be granted. I'm tired of fighting back. I'm tired of cleaning the pots seven days a week, week after week. At least, thank goodness, Munch has reined in his sadistic streak for a while, although, who knows how long that will last?_

Curry grabbed the iron railing and pulled himself up. He swayed in place before regaining his balance and caught O'Reilly's abortive movement to reach out to steady him that belied the spoken admonishment. L1314 bent to pick up the fallen pot, then retrieved rags from the cart to clean up the mess on the walkway. He held his breath when he moved the wrong way and could almost feel his side turning black and blue.

O'Reilly walked over to Riggs, the two of them watching the prisoner continue on his sanitation duties along the empty cells of tier two.

O'Reilly whispered to Riggs, "I thought you wanted him done faster; that kick you gave him is going to slow him up."

"I don't care. One broken rib or him pissing blood is all I need," Riggs whispered conspiratorially to his fellow guard.

"I hate piss-pot duty almost as much as L1314; you can't like it either." Riggs continued when he knew he had O'Reilly's attention.

"Haven't you noticed that a sick or hurt L1314 is to our advantage? The doc puts him on light duty and he goes to clerk in the broom factory and we spend time in the Prison Industries Building instead. That's a heck of a lot better than what we're doing now. Munch is leaving L1314 alone, at least for the time being, so we have to take matters into our own hands."

O'Reilly stared at Riggs for a minute before actually giving Riggs' theory some thought. Was a cracked rib or a bruised kidney a fair price to pay for a lighter assignment and a much-needed weekly day of rest? L1314's secret guardian didn't like the fact that he was even contemplating going along with Riggs' selfish plans for L1314. He glanced over to the convict in question who was determinedly performing his assigned duty despite obvious pain and fatigue. He was well aware cell sanitation was among the most hated work in the prison by both the prisoners and the guards. He and Riggs had their days off but L1314 worked every day.

O'Reilly thought back over Curry's behavior, health and general appearance when L1314 was in the broom factory compared to the mindless, endless piss-pot detail. It was apparent that L1314 was better able to cope when some of the relentless stress was alleviated and he was given the opportunity to conserve whatever inner resources the man was drawing on to survive. Munch might be letting things go quiet for now as he returned to his original strategy of working L1314 to death out of sight of the inmate population, but O'Reilly had noticed the menacing stares the captain was directing at Curry. There was no question in his mind that the respite for L1314 was not going to last much longer. O'Reilly made his decision; he would let Riggs carry out his plan for Curry but the prisoner was going to sick call as soon as he was hurt enough for the doc to put him on light duty.

All the inmates were securely locked in their cells for the night except one. Riggs was true to his threat; L1314 worked through the supper period, finishing the last cell just as the convicts were returning to the cell blocks. He next put away his cleaning supplies and cleaned the slop room before being allowed to return to his cell in the furthest reaches of the cold, third tier of the North Wing.

The door slammed shut and L1314 couldn't remember being so grateful to be locked in the small, drafty cell. He stood still, looking at the cot but knowing if he let himself sit down, he would stay down for the night. He forced himself to complete his cleaning duties for the evening.

L1314 carefully poured some water into the tin washbasin and washed his hands with a small sliver of harsh brown soap. He then used his cupped hands to drink from the water bucket. Next, the soiled urine-smelling shirt was slowly removed and placed in the basin to soak. Curry twisted to the right, inhaled sharply and ran his left hand over his prominent ribs, pressing lightly down. He didn't think any were broken but he had some impressive bruising across his right chest and flank. The shirt was rung out and hung from the peg on the side of the dilapidated washstand. He poured the dirty water into the chipped chamber pot then poured a little more water from the bucket into the dented basin. He picked up the threadbare washcloth and cleaned himself up as best he could. Using the washcloth again he bent over, wincing at the movement, and tried to at least wipe his legs and the bottom of his pants. With the leg irons, the pants were on to stay until Sunday's laundry detail arrived.

As clean as he could make himself and while still conserving some water for drinking until he filled the cell buckets tomorrow, L1314 gingerly lowered himself to his hard, narrow cot. While holding his breath, he bent down and removed his shoes, leaving his gray, wool socks on for warmth. With deliberate movements, he lay down, pulled the thin, wool blanket up around his shoulders and finally let himself rest. His normal good sense of time was muddled recently so he wasn't sure how long it would be until the lights were turned down in the prison. He stared up at the ceiling. He wasn't in the mood for his usual diversions: counting the cracks - there were forty-nine - and winter was coming so there weren't any insects to watch crawl or fly around; even his imagination deserted him for making pictures out of patterns, textures and cracks.

He had once told Heyes he would get his own book and Heyes had laughed at him, knowing how unlikely that really was. Well, now he longed to be able to do just that and read a nice long book. Most prisoners were allowed to have one book from the prison library in their cell and if their library privileges were suspended, at least they were allowed the Bible. Curry had lost all privileges by the second week of his incarceration. When he asked both the warden and Captain Munch for a Bible, they had told him since he was an irredeemable criminal and would never be released into society again, his path to redemption was unimportant; he should meditate on his wrongdoings and for that, he didn't need a Bible.

Lying there with nothing to occupy his mind but his thoughts, a nagging fear edged itself into full awareness. For the first time since he turned himself in, he doubted his ability to survive. This was different from not wanting to live; he had those feelings often enough but could control them with his memories of Heyes. This was a fear that his body would give out before his will did.

All his life he had been active. His natural tendency combined with the lifestyle he had followed fostered his athleticism, agility and physical strength. The outlaw life toughened his body and increased his ability to endure physical hardships. As long as he had the will power, he could make his body stay the course. How many times had he had to stay on a horse and ride at breakneck speed or hold a gun steady and shoot with perfect aim while shot or injured because his or others' lives depended upon it? He had survived illnesses and injuries that most men would succumb to, but now he wondered if he was at the end of the line.

He didn't think he was ever this tired for so long a period in his life before. He had to work to rally his energy to get up each morning. Every day felt like a test of endurance. The fact that he was in near-constant pain from some part of his body only added to the drain on his physical reserve. He would keep putting one foot in front of the other until he dropped, completely spent; he had promised Heyes.

Now was his one chance; he would never last five more years. L1314 felt both great anger and shame along with reluctant relief at Nickersen's method to uncover his secret. Even though L1314 was skeptical of his chances for a pardon, he still guarded and nursed the spark of hope that Heyes had planted deep within him. He sent a silent prayer to the ceiling that his body would keep going until the spark became a flame lighting the way to freedom.

A bang from a lash handle on the iron door interrupted L1314's gloomy musings. The night guard looked in the cell and turned to walk back along the cell tier, dimming the lights. Curry waited for the footsteps to fade before struggling to sit up on the side of the cot. The dizziness that came and went periodically slowly dissipated. He pushed himself off the cot with shaky arms and stood by the side for a minute, mustering his energy. He took a few gliding steps in stocking feet, in order to keep the noise from the chain at a minimum, to reach the right, front bars and held on to keep his balance.

"Good night, Lucas, see you in the morning," L1314 whispered.

"Good night, Curry, sleep tight," answered 151313 in an equally quiet voice.

* * *

The prisoners were grateful for the extra two hours of sleep on Sunday morning, even L1314, who would have to work harder to complete his work. The bell rang; men rose and performed their morning ritual in order to be standing at attention when the cell doors were unlocked. Convicts, formed into lockstep, moved slowly down walkways, stairs and through corridors to file into the dining hall. Each wing entered from opposite sides and met in the middle of the room. L1314, the last North Wing prisoner, was standing, hand on 151313's shoulder waiting for the bell to ring, allowing the men to take their places at the long tables, when he noticed that the last South Wing prisoner was new.

The bell rang, the men sat, the bell rang again and the men started eating. Guards walked up and down the rows of tables, ensuring silence during the meal. Captain Munch strode from the front of the room by the bell and made his way around the periphery, coming to a stop behind L1314 and the new prisoner, 32115. Munch stared at both men, his eyes narrowed in thought. He judged Curry as physically spent. And with his still futile struggles, had taken most of the pleasure out of any rewards for most of the men, even most of the participating guards had lost their enthusiasm. The new convict seemed a prime candidate and much less defiant, more easily broken. He could probably get years of use from the new inmate. The guard captain made a come here gesture to Broken Nose, who had remained at the front of the room.

"This one, 32115, pull out of the shower line first thing, reward time." Munch smirked at Broken Nose as he pointed to the new inmate.

"Sure, captain, in front of the storage room as usual?" asked the broken-nose guard.

L1314, the new South Wing prisoner and a few surrounding inmates overheard the order since the two guards were not being especially quiet. The few men that overheard stopped eating for a moment and glanced quickly at the new convict. 32115 looked up in confusion but no clarifying information was forthcoming. L1314, however, knew exactly what Munch and the guard were talking about. He engaged in an inner debate for approximately one minute before he heeded his need to act.

As the adrenalin coursed through his veins, Curry sprang to his feet with new-found energy, spun around and his right arm shot out to grab Captain Munch in the groin, squeezing tightly. Munch let out a surprised, pained yelp. There was dead silence as activity was suspended and all eyes turned to the middle of the room.

"I don't think there will be any rewards today or any other day, Captain," Curry stated clearly, calmly, and authoritatively as his Kid Curry outlaw instincts resurfaced.

The moment of surprise passed quickly. The guards closest to the disturbance advanced purposefully towards the threatening inmate. Convicts started to stand and form a protective ring around Curry, who still had hold of Munch. The guard closest to the door slipped out of the dining hall to alert the warden and bring reinforcements. Other guards formed a line and hustled the prisoners, who had not yet joined in the standoff, towards the ends of the hall, out the doors and back to the cells.

"L1314, let the captain go before you get deeper in trouble," Riggs ordered as he inched his way forward.

"I don't think so, Riggs. Not right now. I'm not going to let another unsuspecting man be used the way the captain has planned." Curry let his blue eyes go glacial.

Riggs stopped in his tracks but a few guards were getting close to the ring of inmates in the back. Several prisoners grabbed the dishes and food from the tables and flung it at the advancing guards in warning. Shouts and curses were coming from both sides and the situation was in danger of becoming a small riot.

Curry realized the danger and jumped up onto the bench, dragging Munch up with him. He kept his right hand low and the other around Munch's neck. Munch had both hands on Curry's arms but he lacked the ability to break L1314's grip. Every time the captain came close to prying L1314's arm away from his neck, the hand below squeezed tighter. Munch's face contorted in pain and he screamed oaths of vengeance on L1314.

O'Reilly groaned to Stevens next to him. "I can't help him now, why couldn't he keep quiet? It wouldn't be him anymore in the storage room."

Guards appeared in the doorways with rifles, and faced the ring of inmates surrounding Curry and Munch, who were now standing above the small mob. Warden Hardston arrived at the scene red in the face and short of breath. Both sides were tense, agitated and losing control.

"All prisoners, put your faces on the floor immediately!" shouted the warden. He was promptly hit in the chest with a cup of coffee, the brown liquid staining his white shirt. The warden stamped his feet in anger and stuttered the order to aim.

The guards brought the rifles to their shoulders.

"Do as the Warden said; everyone lie on the ground. No one needs to get hurt." Curry's even voice rose above the din in the room and commanded attention.

"They have rifles and are ready to use them. This is between Munch, the warden and me."

Gradually by ones and twos, the inmates lowered themselves to the ground but kept an eye on the two men on the bench.

The guards relaxed their fingers on the triggers but did not lower the firearms.

"Now, Warden, the men have obeyed your orders. There's no need for bloodshed. I'll do what you want after you hear what I've got to say," Curry addressed the prison administrator.

"But first, everyone stays where they are. If I see or detect movement, Captain Munch here will find out for himself what it is like to be a lady." Curry gave a jerk and a hard squeeze with his right hand and the captain let out another high-pitched squeal.

"No! I'm not going to listen to you! You do not speak! You obey or you will be shot!" shouted Hardston not quite believing an inmate would have the audacity to defy him.

The warden grabbed the guard standing next to him and pointed at Curry. The guard readjusted his aim to Curry but could not get a clear shot. Munch's eyes went wide and he started to sweat, as he was between the guard and Curry. Curry stared, expressionless, cold blue eyes locking with the angry gray eyes of the warden.

"If you think pointing a gun at me is intimidating, think again. I've stared down the wrong end of a barrel more times than you can imagine. Go ahead and shoot. You'll be doing me a favor and if Munch goes with me, you'll be doing all the inmates a favor." Curry stood still on the bench, holding the squirming Munch in place.

Curry, Munch, Hardston and the guard aiming at Curry had the attention of every person in the room. O'Reilly held his breath; he really didn't know if the warden would give the order to shoot but suspected Hardston hated L1314 enough to do so. Riggs, along with most of the guards and inmates, couldn't help but notice that Munch didn't seem so strong a man now. Munch was plainly scared. He was pale, sweating, his eyes were wild and wide and he had no compunction about screaming out at the first hint of pain.

Hardston opened his mouth, inhaled, started to speak, then closed it. Curry wasn't scared or intimidated and he was right, a bullet would deliver too quick a death. The guard's finger tightened on the trigger. A wet stain appeared around Curry's right hand and spread down Munch's trouser legs.

"All right then, Warden, I was a thief. I stole money. I'm guilty. Most men here are guilty of the crimes they're convicted of. We're paying our dues to society now. We're earning our keep and working like dogs. You and the guards here are responsible for making sure we serve our time and are rehabilitated enough to live as law-abiding citizens when we're released." Curry swept his gaze around the room and noted no one had moved.

"You're never going to be released, L1314! You're here for life, a long, very miserable life that you deserve! That pardon you want, you'll never get it! Your prison record alone shows you don't belong among decent people!" Hardston gloated, trying to regain the upper hand.

"Maybe so, warden, maybe so. But 32115 is only serving three years. He has to go back out and live his life. Do you know anything about him? Does he have a family? Can he read? Why did he do what he did to land here? What are you doing, Warden, to help him not make the same mistake again? I don't know of anyplace else where people aren't allowed to talk. We aren't allowed to make friends and are supposed to reflect on our wrongdoings. You can't reflect on where you went wrong if you can't talk about it. I'll bet the preacher would be willing to help us be better men or to teach men to read and some of the other inmates might help teach useful skills as well. That'll accomplish a lot more good than years of silent reflection."

The inmates started to murmur agreement, heedless of the prohibition on speaking. Some of the guards also started to nod their heads and looked to the warden for his response. None was offered as the warden stood there, impotent to end the encounter as he wished.

"Munch was planning to rob 32115 of his manhood today. I'm sure you're aware of what goes on in your prison, I mean, you tell us often enough that nothing escapes your notice. How is completely crushing any sense of dignity he might have left, helping that prisoner return to his life when his term is done? Never mind that Munch, the other participants and you are acting as criminals."

"You bullies are all alike. You never know when to stop. It's not enough that every minute of our life is under your control. When we eat, sleep, work, wash and what we look like aren't enough for you. You keep us so we're too tired or too beaten down to even control our own thoughts. This prison robs a body of any sense of hope. You're a worse thief than I ever was." Curry's impassioned voice filled the room, causing spontaneous clapping among the prisoners and even a few unconscious nods by the guards.

The adrenalin rush was subsiding and Curry's lightheadedness returned. He abruptly staggered, one foot slipped off the bench and he fell to the floor taking Munch down with him.

"Get him!" Hardston ordered in triumph and he barely could keep himself from clapping at the turn of events and sighing in relief.

Several guards rushed forward and pinned L1314 roughly to the floor. Riggs helped Munch up. The captain's face turned from pale to beet red as he stared down at the inmate who had humiliated him in front of his superior, his subordinates and worse yet, the prisoners. Munch couldn't stand up straight but he could and did give L1314 a kick hard enough to crack a rib or two in the side before shuffling out of the dining hall with as much dignity as he could muster.

Guards lowered the rifles with their own sighs of relief. The warden surveyed the dining hall. The room was in chaos. The inmates were still on the floor amid the scattered debris of breakfast. Guards were milling about waiting for instruction. L1314 lay on the cement floor, wrists cuffed behind his back, breathing through the pain. Riggs had one booted foot pressed onto his lower back and Broken Nose had a boot planted on the prisoner's head, keeping him immobile.

Warden Hardston started issuing orders, "All prisoners in this room are on half rations for one week and lose all privileges for one month. They will clean up this mess. Prison routine will be resumed after the entire prison population is assembled in the yard to witness L1314's punishment for insubordination, assault, and inciting a riot. Supplementary guards may return to assigned duties."

Hardston strutted over to stand by L1314's head. He spoke to the two guards holding L1314 in place.

"Get him up."

Riggs and Broken Nose hauled L1314 to his feet. Once again blue eyes met gray.

"Prisoners are required to keep their head bowed unless given permission otherwise. I have your signature on the list of rules and regulations for this institution, so I know you are aware of that fact," the warden stated calmly.

Broken Nose smacked the top of L1314's head and forced it into the required position.

"You are sentenced to thirty lashes, thirty days in a dark solitary cell, and half rations for an additional thirty days. O'Reilly! Get over here and help secure L1314 at the whipping post. The punishment will commence when the prisoners are assembled. O'Reilly, you may administer the flogging since the captain will be unavailable. Are you skilled with the bullwhip?" O'Reilly mutely shook his head no. "Use the cat then." Hardston turned to leave the room, satisfied things were back in control.

Curry jerked his head out from under Broken Noses' hand and glanced quickly at O'Reilly. L1314 was aware that O'Reilly was walking a fine line of keeping his job but yet looking out for his welfare and he was grateful for the many instances during the past few months when the redheaded guard's quiet unobtrusive assistance was crucial to his ability to continue on. O'Reilly looked panic-stricken at the thought of what the warden had just ordered him to do.

"Warden," Curry called out, summoning up a last burst of strength from his rapidly dwindling energy reserve. "You're going to miss the show? It's easy for you small men to be big men from the comfort of your office. You ever see a man's skin being stripped from his back? You ever exert the effort it takes to cut with a whip and wind up splattered with your victim's blood? A true leader never asks someone to do something that he won't."

"Shut up! Outlaw, you know nothing of leading men." Hardston stopped walking and slowly turned back to face L1314, his fists clenching in fury.

"Oh, but I do, Warden, my partner is one of the best leaders of men around. You could try to learn from him all your life but you'll never be a true leader. I know your type, only strong and brave if you get others to do your dirty work for you." L1314 continued to incite the warden as the entire room's attention was once again riveted to Curry.

"Shut up! I told you to shut up!" The warden was shouting inches from L1314's face.

Without warning, Hardston drew back his right fist and struck Curry's left cheek, causing the inmate to lose his balance and fall into Riggs, who pushed him back upright. The warden was red in the face, breathing hard and with clenched fists stood staring at L1314 with intense hatred.

"You…you're a killer. You point a gun and kill people. What kind of big man does that?"

"Yeah, I've killed men. Not near as many as people think, but I've killed and I'll bet in your own cowardly way so have you, Warden. The difference between you and me is that for every man that died, it was my finger on the trigger. Every man drew first and was trying to kill me or someone I cared about. Each of their faces are etched in my mind, I can't forget any of them. I'll go to my grave with the weight of their deaths on my soul," Curry seriously explained while looking the warden in the eyes. When he was finished, L1314 dropped his head to look at the floor. The warden would take his bait or not, he had nothing left he wanted to say.

"I'll see you outside, L1314, and you'll see just what kind of leader I am," Hardston replied and strode from the room.

* * *

A cold strong wind whipped up the detritus from the yard and swirled it around the assembled men's feet. Individuals drew their coats tighter around themselves to keep the wind out. Prisoners and guards alike stamped their feet in place to keep warm, waiting to see if the warden would follow through on his threat.

L1314's shirt flapped from the hook against the wooden post while the prisoner remained motionless, secured with up-stretched arms to whipping post one. His bare torso was covered in goose bumps and he could not stop his teeth from chattering. He willed himself into numbness in preparation for an ordeal he was all too familiar with. Thirty stokes was more than he had ever received at one time but from prior experience there came a point when he doubted the ultimate number made a difference.

Riggs was staring at O'Reilly, wondering why he looked so sick. He would have no problem accommodating the warden's wishes. O'Reilly shouldn't be such a weakling, especially if he wanted to be promoted. His palm itched to grab the cat-o'-nine-tails out of O'Reilly's hand. Riggs looked impatiently at the portal, trying to decide how long they should wait before getting started.

Warden Hardston walked into the cold courtyard just when Riggs, as the senior guard present, was about to order the flogging to start. The warden walked over to O'Reilly and snatched the cat from the relieved guard. He then took his place behind L1314 while Riggs announced the sentence.

Warden Hardston delivered his strokes mechanically, each with the same brutality and in regular rhythm. When he had completed ten, he stopped, stepped to the side and addressed the bloodied, sweaty prisoner.

"Well, L1314, does this meet your criteria for a good leader now?" Hardston demanded.

Curry blinked the sweat running into his eyes away and lifted his head to look at the warden in disbelief. "You're the kind of leader that relies on threats; it may get things done but that's all!"

Crack! The cat came down across L1314's cheek, neck and upper arm, instantly raising welts across the tender areas. Curry inhaled sharply and tears of pain sprang to his eyes as he tucked his head down to his chest in an effort to protect his face from further strikes.

The warden stepped back to his original place and continued to strike out at a faster pace.

At the twentieth stroke, L1314 was barely standing; most of his weight was suspended from his ripped wrists.

Again, the warden paused and stepped closer to the prisoner. Hardston used the handle of the whip to lift the prisoner's head.

L1314 opened his eyes, tried to focus on the man before him but all he could see was splashes of red against different fuzzy-colored backgrounds.

"Is this threat enough for you, L1314? Are you going to obey my commands immediately from now on?"

Curry dropped his head down and marshaled his breath between pants to utter finally, "No, I won't …stand by …while… you allow…another man… to be…ruined… for life…like… I am."

The warden could not believe he was still being defied and his anger at L1314 escaped his control. The blows from the cat-o'-nine-tails came fast, furiously and were indiscriminately placed, so long as they were hitting some part of L1314. The warden kept going way past thirty and showed no signs of stopping.

"Stop! Stop! Enough! You're going to kill him!" O'Reilly shouted as he ran over and grabbed the warden in a bear hug from behind, restraining his arms.

"How dare you! Let go of me! I'll stop when he says he'll obey," Hardston yelled out at the stunned audience.

O'Reilly released the infuriated man but stood between L1314 and the warden.

"Sir, he's unconscious. He's not going to be saying anything soon," Riggs cautiously told the warden.

Warden Hardston visibly struggled to regain his self-control. He dropped the bloody cat in the dirt and stared at his red-splattered hands for a moment.

"Carry on," he ordered loudly. In his normal imperious tone, he then addressed Riggs.

"Put O'Reilly on report. I am going home to clean up and change after I check on Captain Munch. My Sunday has been disturbed enough. Good day." Hardston never glanced back.

* * *

"I'll wait here and keep watch. I put a pail of water by the door. You've got half an hour before we gotta go," Stevens whispered rapidly to O'Reilly, who was sneaking the doctor down the stairs to the discipline cell block.

The two men hurried through the door and down the dim, dank corridor while Stevens stationed himself at the cell block entrance. O'Reilly fumbled with the key before finally opening the door to the tiny dark cell at the very end of the hall. He turned the flame up on the lantern he had taken down from the wall to illuminate better the interior.

"#*%*, Hardston did this? I heard rumors this morning but I didn't quite believe it." The doctor swore when he got his first sight of his patient. He cursed the fact that he was not notified the previous day.

"This man needs to be in the infirmary, not left in a cold, dark cell no one's supposed to enter for thirty days," the doctor fumed.

The doc dropped his bag on the stone floor and crouched next to the prone figure dumped haphazardly in the small space. He placed his fingers against the man's neck, noted the skin was cold and nodded his relief when a pulse was detected; it was slow and irregular but it was most assuredly better than nothing. A frown formed when he failed to elicit any response from Curry. He performed a quick assessment of the patient's immediate condition. Respirations were slow, shallow and labored. A wave of the hand indicated to O'Reilly to bring the light closer and neither man was pleased with what he saw. O'Reilly was surprised and horrified at the extent of the injuries, even though he had been present when they occurred. In addition to the welts and extensive lacerations of the back, upper arms, wrists, flanks, neck and back of the head, there was massive bruising covering almost Curry's entire torso from the kicks and leather knots at the end of the tails.

The two men worked quickly and efficiently to clean and dress Curry's multiple wounds. They wound yards of cloth bandages around his torso to hold the dressings in place and support the two ribs the physician suspected were cracked. The cloth also had the added benefit of providing a little extra warmth. O'Reilly was able to coax a few swallows of water down Curry's throat that the doctor debated adding a few drops of laudanum to before finally deciding to postpone giving the painkiller until his level of consciousness increased. The only response Curry offered was a barely heard mumble that sounded like "Heyes". Stevens had pilfered a clean shirt that they managed to get on him with some difficulty. They propped the unconscious L1314 in a semi-reclining position in the corner since the physician was very concerned about the prisoner developing pneumonia, which would most likely finish him off, given the state he was in.

The doctor and O'Reilly did all they could with the time and supplies they had and reluctantly exited the dark cell, relocked the door and joined up with Stevens. The three huddled at the base of the stairs and formulated a plan to provide care without being caught for the rest of the week. O'Reilly was no longer assigned to Curry as a result of yesterday's action so the little group's efforts hinged on Stevens' ability to provide access. They were relatively confident in their plan since the door would not be opened by anyone other than Stevens this week. They would worry about next week later.

In the blackness and quiet of the dark cell Curry wasn't totally oblivious to his circumstances. He was vaguely aware of people taking care of him, at first thinking it was Heyes. He recognized the voices after fighting his way up from the depths of unconsciousness. He couldn't muster the energy to break the surface of awareness or help himself in any way. As he sunk back down to the pleasant depths without pain or anguish, he wondered if this would be his tomb.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter Seventeen**

 _ **November 5, 1884**_

"Is he in?"

"Yes, shall I see if he can see you? Wait I need to…"

The door slammed open, rattling the glass in the frame. A newspaper was thrown on the desk, covering the papers the man was working on.

"Did you see this? Did you? I can't believe our luck is always this bad!"

"Hello, Heyes. Yes, I'm aware of the election results. Now, why don't you sit and calm down, then we'll discuss what has you so upset." The unruffled attorney indicated the chair on the other side of the desk.

Heyes ran his fingers through his dark brown hair agitatedly and sat obediently down in a visitor's chair. He took a couple of deep breaths to calm himself and gestured to the headlines.

"Blaine lost the Presidency; the Democrat, Grover Cleveland, won. President Arthur is Republican and his party just lost the election. Do you know what this means? You don't know what we went through with the amnesty and the ever-changing Wyoming governors!" Heyes' voice started to rise in pitch as he remembered the constant refrain Lom kept repeating, it's not the right time politically boys.

"We can't start over with a new President, Richard. Kid doesn't have the time. And before you tell me, like everyone else, that I don't know that's true, just take my word for it, I do. I know. I can feel it," Heyes stated, deadly serious as he looked unflinchingly at Nickersen.

"Heyes, you do know that they don't toss the current President out of office the day after the election. There is a transition period that lasts several months. Secondly, I'm not sure that we will have to submit the pardon application to the new President. Outgoing Presidents have a habit of making controversial decisions before they leave office since there is no pressure to be re-elected. The election results might actually work in our favor. I telegraphed Mr. Grey this morning, though, to monitor the status of the application. We can only wait and see. Worrying about it will not accomplish anything." Nickersen sat back in his chair and looked at Heyes, mutely attempting to get him to listen to reason.

"It gives me something to do. I feel better when I worry." Heyes moved to the edge of his seat.

Nickersen just raised a sandy eyebrow at Heyes and let him wind down. "Okay, okay, I can't do anything else but wait. I have to go out of town for a few days. If you hear anything, anything at all, please wire Lom. I'll keep in touch with him, maybe old routines will bring us luck this time around." The ex-outlaw turned detective rose from his chair and turned to leave. "Thanks, Richard, and I'm sorry about barging in," Heyes apologized.

Nickersen stood up and clapped Heyes' shoulder gently. "It's no problem, and I know how much the pardon means to the two of you. What did you tell me, you gotta have faith? Keep the faith, Heyes."

The blond attorney watched Heyes leave, his shoulders slumped and he sat back down in his chair. As he caught sight of the bold black headlines in the newspaper Heyes tossed on his desk, he hoped he was correct about the election being a blessing in disguise because Heyes was right, it was now or never for Kid Curry. Nickersen didn't know how Heyes knew his partner was doing so poorly but he did. He certainly didn't tell Heyes that each time he saw Curry, Curry looked worse and worse. It wasn't the first time he thought there might be a grain of truth in the dime novels, there really was some real indefinable connection between the two men that he had seen subtly demonstrated by both partners.

* * *

 _ **November 6, 1884**_

Lom Trevors sat at his desk sipping luke-warm coffee. The cells were empty. Deputy Harker Wilkins was out doing the rounds, and all the paperwork was completed. He fingered the telegram he had received the previous day and felt a mixture of pride and regret. He let his thoughts wander as he tilted his chair back and settled into a comfortable position. The telegram was from Heyes requesting Lom act as a relay service for him. Lom didn't mind at all, he was just surprised. Most people knew where to find him since Heyes had settled in Denver. He felt justified in his decision to mentor the ex-outlaw. Heyes' outward success in adjusting to a law-abiding life, as well as building a reputable detective agency, gave Lom a great sense of pride in his friend.

Unfortunately, the sense of pride was tinged with lasting regret that he was only able to claim one-half of the partnership as a success. Kid Curry's imprisonment weighed heavily in his mind. He wished he had more influence in political circles or was able to change the circumstances that had taken place in the summer of 1883. The reality was that he had done the best he could to ensure a future for at least one of his friends. Lom had argued with Kid, but in the end conceded that Kid's reputation as the Fastest Gun in the West proved to be an almost insurmountable obstacle. As much as Lom didn't like it, Kid's plan was the only sure way of guaranteeing a future for Hannibal Heyes. Arranging Curry's surrender, watching a good friend be handcuffed and bound to a horse, then having to turn his back and face Heyes, was one of the hardest things Lom had to do as a sheriff.

"Lom! Lom! I have an urgent telegram for you." The big, friendly but slightly dim deputy called as he rushed into the office, holding a yellow envelope out in front of him.

Lom sighed; he let his thoughts drift away and focused on the telegram Harker was thrusting at him. He read the telegram quickly then looked up at the waiting deputy with a big grin on his face.

"Harker, this is great news. I've got to send a telegram right away. Watch the office for me, will ya? I'll be back soon." The sheriff jumped from his chair and bounded out of the office, leaving the confused deputy standing in front of the desk.

* * *

Hannibal Heyes dropped his carpetbag on the faded rug in front of the reception desk of a shabby hotel in Silverton, Colorado. He banged on the dented bell sitting on the desk and thought the more things changed the more they stayed the same. He was still staying in a succession of run-down hotel rooms; granted, only when he traveled on business, and it was his choice not to spend money on more lavish accommodations. However, for this trip, the Silver Palace was the only hotel in town, and it charged miner's prices, even though "palace" was a misnomer if Heyes ever heard one.

A slouching clerk with bushy salt and pepper muttonchops sauntered through a door behind the desk. He straightened his vest, eyed the man before him dispassionately and pushed the register wordlessly in front of his customer. Heyes signed his name and pushed the book back across the desk to the clerk.

"I'd like a room overlooking the street, if one is available," Heyes stated, as old habits died hard. The clerk looked at the signature in his book, straightened immediately and pulled an envelope out from under the desk.

"Oh, Mr. Heyes, I have a telegraph for you. It just arrived about an hour ago." The now-attentive clerk handed the telegraph over to the infamous ex-outlaw.

"We have a nice room with a good view of the street for only three dollars a night." He turned around to reach for a key from the pegboard behind him.

"Here, number three should meet your approval." The solicitous man held out the key, and his hand stopped in midair. Mr. Heyes had completely disappeared.

* * *

 _ **November 11, 1884**_

Hannibal Heyes paced up and down the platform. At the east end of the platform, he paused, staring down the tracks, willing the train to appear. Every few turns, a gold watch was extracted from the pocket of his old blue coat, examined and shaken in annoyance, as if the slow progress of time was somehow the watch's fault. One dark-haired man, wearing typical sheriff's attire and badge and one blond man, wearing a well-cut blue suit and wool coat, watched Heyes pace with amusement from their seats on a bench outside of the Laramie, Wyoming, train station.

"That man needs to exist on something other than coffee," the blond attorney remarked to the dark-haired sheriff as he rubbed his gloved hands together for warmth. The early morning sun was providing light but no heat, and the day promised to remain brisk.

"I don't know how Kid put up with a nervous Heyes all those years. He hardly sleeps, is up at the crack of dawn, drinks gallons of bad coffee and paces relentlessly," Lom remarked while keeping an eye on his friend who was walking the boards of the platform.

Lom pushed himself off the hard bench and ambled over to intercept Heyes on his next pass.

"Heyes, it's cold out here; come inside and warm up for a little while. The train should be here any minute now. The stationmaster said it was running only an hour late. I'm as anxious as you to get over to the prison, but it's been over a year, an hour is not going to make that much of a difference," Lom stated reasonably, his breath crystallizing in the cold morning air.

Heyes stopped in front of Lom and looked him straight in the face, "Lom, Kid's been in there for one year, three months and six days. I don't want him to spend one more minute than necessary in that place."

As if on cue, the train whistle sounded, and all three men came to stand at the edge of the platform in anticipation. Mr. Grey, carrying a black leather valise and his portfolio, was the first off the train and practically walked into Hannibal Heyes as he descended the car's steps. Heyes took the valise from Mr. Grey's hand while he not so subtly hurried the Pardon Attorney's Office representative across the platform towards the station.

Two suit-clad men bundled up with coats, mufflers and gloves, toting valises and portfolios, hurried after Mr. Grey into the warm train station.

Mr. Grey stopped inside to catch his breath and gestured to the professional-looking men who had accompanied him.

"Gentlemen, I would like you to meet two colleagues of mine from the Justice Department, Mr. Reuter and Mr. Sullivan. They are quite interested in the fiscal and operational administration of the Wyoming Territorial Prison and are authorized to conduct a thorough investigation."

Mr. Reuter and Mr. Sullivan smiled like predators sighting unsuspecting prey. They looked the part as well, with powerful physiques, hawk noses and penetrating dark eyes. Mr. Reuter had slicked-back coal black hair and was slightly taller than the balding Mr. Sullivan. Richard Nickersen shook their hands vigorously with a very satisfied smile and extended greetings for the group.

"I'll go rent another surrey. I've only rented one. You can wait here where it's warm. I'll be right back," Lom said over his shoulder as he started for the station door.

"Sheriff Trevors, wait! My colleagues are going to check into their hotel, freshen up and get organized before heading out to the Prison. They'll arrange their own transportation. Thank you for the offer, though," Mr. Grey called after the sheriff.

Grey turned back and addressed Heyes with a genuine smile on his face, "Well, Mr. Heyes, shall we go? I think Mr. Curry has waited long enough for his freedom, don't you?"

"Yes, Mr. Grey, I do. Thank you, the surrey is right outside." Heyes retrieved an old carpetbag he had left in the stationmaster's care and swiftly ushered the others out the door and into the early November cold Wyoming weather.

* * *

"You can't possibly be serious? This can't be for real? President Arthur has commuted that outlaw Curry's sentence and granted him a pardon?" Warden Hardston waved the papers in his hand in frank disbelief.

The short, arrogant prison administrator stood behind his desk and shot his guard captain a concerned look. Captain Munch could barely contain his rage as he stood beside the large desk, fists clenching unconsciously. Munch retrieved L1314's file from the cabinet along the wall and threw it on the warden's desk.

"I assure you, Warden Hardston, that I am very serious. I would not have traveled all the way from Washington, if I were otherwise. You can see for yourself, the presidential seal is on the documents attesting to their authenticity. Now please have Mr. Curry brought here from wherever he is, so that he can sign the necessary paperwork. Then you can complete whatever release procedures are required, and we'll be on our way," Mr. Grey responded in an official manner from his leather seat before the desk.

Hardston leaned close to Munch and spoke quietly, issuing orders, as Munch glared at Heyes. The captain left the office reluctantly when the warden seated himself and opened Curry's prison record.

"Mr. Curry is currently being disciplined for inciting a riot, taking a hostage, assault and battery, insubordination, and speaking without permission, among other rule infractions. Do you really think that this violent criminal deserves to be released into society? What will he do when he has a gun in his hand, if he can't even learn to live peacefully in a controlled environment?" Hardston did not keep the condescending tone from his voice, as he adopted the attitude of a superior instructing dimwitted inferiors.

"Kid's not violent by nature, and he hasn't committed a crime in years. What did you do to him, you bastard?" Heyes, with dark eyes flashing, slowly leaned over the desk and demonstrated his controlled dangerousness by speaking in low, measured tones, heavy with implied threat.

Lom quickly stepped forward to place a calming hand on Heyes' shoulder before the implied threat became a real threat. Heyes tensed at Lom's touch but straightened up and backed off. However, his intense expression and penetrating stare did not waver from the warden's face.

Nickersen broke in calmly, "Has the injured party or hostage filed formal assault and battery charges? I am sure my client would welcome the opportunity to defend himself in open court. The commutation of sentence and pardon are still valid, but any new crimes will be prosecuted according to the law." The attorney could issue an implied threat of his own since he was positive Warden Hardston would not want public scrutiny of the internal workings of his domain. Little did the prison administrator know that in a few short hours his reign of absolute authority would be under attack.

Grey opened his portfolio and extracted another document, which he handed over to Hardston across the desk. "This is a Justice Department order to seal Jedediah Curry's prison record, once all release documentation is completed. Any person from that point on will need to show cause and obtain a court order to unseal and examine said record."

Grey, Nickersen and Hardston reviewed each document in the file, the documents provided by Grey and the forms that needed to be completed. Lom casually stood in front of the warden's desk and kept his eye on Heyes, as Heyes divided his attention between intimidating Hardston in subtle ways, trying to get a look at the prison file and darting glances of impatience at the office door. Heyes suddenly straightened and focused all his attention towards the doorway, head cocked and listening hard. Coughing, weak and hacking, was heard above slow plodding footsteps, becoming louder until the sounds seemed right outside the door. All conversation stopped and the men in the room faced the door with various degrees of anticipation.

The door opened. Captain Munch appeared first, followed by L1314, O'Reilly and Stevens.

O'Reilly and Stevens were on each side of Curry, holding onto his upper arms, more than half-supporting his weight. Curry had taken no more than two shuffling steps into the room when spasmodic coughing wracked his emaciated frame. O'Reilly and Stevens tightened their grips as O'Reilly searched for an unoccupied chair; the walk from discipline cell block had taxed L1314's strength and energy. The two guards guided the sick man to the chair next to Grey, in front of Hardston's desk.

"He's still in chains. Why?" Heyes demanded when he found his voice, coming to stand next to Curry's chair.

Munch looked to Hardston, who nodded. "O'Reilly, please remove all restraints from L1314," Munch ordered, disgust readily apparent in his voice.

Brown eyes slowly surveyed his partner, as he was freed from heavy iron wrist and ankle shackles. Heyes thought he was prepared for deterioration in Kid's health and appearance. He based his expectations on his previous visit and Nickersen's evasiveness in answering direct questions, but once again he was shocked.

Curry was thin, gaunt, thinner than he remembered him ever being, even as a starving thirteen-year-old adolescent. He had a fine peach fuzz of golden hair on his head, through which several healing, scabbed, fine lines could be seen running up from his neck to the crown. His face was covered with a scraggly, dirty blond beard and mustache that could not hide sunken, flushed cheeks, underlying pale grey complexion, bruising surrounding a small healed cut on his left cheek and deep purple rings surrounding glassy blue eyes. His skin had the sheen of sweat born of illness. Heyes spotted clean-looking bandages around both wrists when Kid held his hands out for the manacles to be removed. He moved slowly, unsteadily and held his upper arms close to his body. Curry grimaced in pain from the frequent, hacking coughs that shook his body. The sound of his rapid, shallow, labored breathing filled the room that was devoid of conversation.

Kid turned his face up towards Heyes, saw the enormous smile of genuine happiness rapidly fade and met dark brown eyes that were tinged with concern. He dragged his gaze from his partner when Mr. Grey started to speak.

"It is my pleasure to convey President Arthur's congratulations and best wishes for a successful future. You have been granted a commutation of sentence to time served and a presidential pardon. Let me be the first to congratulate you on attaining your freedom, Mr. Curry. Once you have signed the necessary documents, you will be a free man." Mr. Grey stood up and extended his right hand toward Curry.

Curry shook the Pardon Attorney Office's attorney's hand in a daze from his chair.

"Thank you, Sir." When yet another coughing fit ran its course, Kid's eyes cast about for the one man he trusted to tell him the truth. Brown eyes locked onto blue.

"It's true, Kid, you're going to walk back out that door and we're going home to Denver. I have your things right here." Heyes held up the old carpetbag.

Nickersen had laid the necessary documents for Curry to sign on the warden's desk. He handed Curry a pen and gently indicated where Kid needed to sign. Kid blinked his eyes, trying to focus on the papers before him. He concentrated on steadying his shaky hand while he scrawled his signature in the designated places.

Warden Hardston had no choice but to comply with the Justice Department. When he realized Curry was really going to be released, he sought to mitigate any appearance of overzealous or overly harsh treatment and specifically had Munch assign O'Reilly to shepherd L1314 through the release protocol. The warden noticed O'Reilly's look of relief and satisfaction and wondered what his role in this miscarriage of justice was. He would have to get to the bottom of the problem; he could not afford the guards having sympathy for the prisoners or worse yet, acting upon that sympathy.

"O'Reilly, Stevens, please prepare Mr. Curry for release. Gentlemen, if our business is concluded, you may wait for Mr. Curry in Reception." Hardston stood to usher the group out of his office and out of his sight.

In the hall, the two groups parted in opposite directions. Heyes started to follow Kid and his guards when Lom reached out and gently took hold of the back of Heyes' coat. Heyes turned, annoyance passing across his serious features. Lom shook his head. "You're not allowed. They'll bring him back, don't worry."

Heyes frowned and called out, suddenly remembering the carpetbag in his hand, "O'Reilly, is it? I have Kid's clothes here, can you take them?"

The young redheaded guard spoke to Stevens, who then put his arm around Curry's waist, before turning toward Heyes.

O'Reilly walked back and took the offered carpetbag; as both men's hands were briefly on the handles, he looked Heyes in the face. Heyes was reminded of his previous visit; the guard was genuinely concerned.

"He needs a doctor, Mr. Heyes, and soon. The doctor here has been treating him in secret, but he needs more care." O'Reilly hurried to catch up to Stevens and Curry without saying another word, leaving Heyes staring after them.

Nickersen and Grey sat in the chairs in the cold reception area. Heyes and Lom stood before the window talking quietly. Gould, the guard manning the reception desk, watched over them.

Heyes and Lom walked over to confer with Nickersen. Kid's appearance had them all worried. O'Reilly's words added to the concern. The plan had been for Heyes, Kid and Nickersen to take the late afternoon train back to Denver, but Heyes, after seeing his partner, didn't think Kid could or should undertake the long train trip.

Lom was going back to Porterville on an earlier train. Lom felt it was important for him to be there for Kid's release, as he felt somewhat responsible for his incarceration. He would then see them in Denver for Thanksgiving. The two old friends talked about staying in Laramie and finding a doctor for Curry. Alternatively, Lom offered to have Heyes and Kid take the shorter trip to Porterville and see the doctor there, who they both knew.

Nickersen suggested they ask Kid what he wanted to do, but was vetoed by Heyes. Heyes thought his partner didn't look up to making a decision of this importance; if fact, Heyes thought Kid looked on the verge of total collapse. He had seen Curry ill, injured, exhausted and in just about every kind of circumstance. He didn't recall ever seeing him look this spent. The agreement arrived at was to take Curry back to the hotel to let him rest before taking the six-hour train trip to Porterville, where Kid could recuperate in a familiar location with a familiar physician in attendance. Lom would telegraph ahead for the doctor to meet them in Porterville. Everyone agreed, Curry would most likely not want to spend any more time in Laramie, if it could be avoided.

The two Wyoming Territorial Prison guards escorted the newly-freed man to the processing room and sat him down. Kid slumped in the chair, wiped his sweaty forehead with his left forearm and looked around. He remembered entering this room many long months ago, thinking his life was over.

His eyes landed on the two large boards with the rules for prisoners lettered on them. He wondered where the rules were for released prisoners. How was he supposed to live his life now? He was not the same man that walked through the main prison door that hot August day; he never would be. He supposed he should be thinking profound thoughts; undoubtedly Heyes would be, if their positions were reversed. He wanted to feel happy, hopeful, able to live life to its fullest, if only for Heyes' sake. Heyes looked so genuinely thrilled, like he just figured out how to open the P & H '78 and was eager to try it. Standing in the warden's office as they caught sight of each other for the first time in months, Kid saw worry, guilt and fear shadow the deserved happiness of his partner and felt his own guilt for causing it. In a moment of clarity, Kid realized he no longer knew what happiness felt like; all he felt for so long was anger, fear, despair and exhaustion. Curry's eyes closed.

"Curry, Curry, wake up!" Stevens was gently shaking Curry's shoulder.

The Kid woke with a start, blinked and started coughing. He felt sick.

"I'm"…cough, cough, cough…"gonna"…cough, cough…"be sick"… cough, cough, cough.

O'Reilly quickly dumped clothes from the box he had retrieved, labeled "Jedediah Curry, L1314", on the floor and threw the empty box between Curry's feet just in time.

O'Reilly handed the Kid a clean shirt to wipe his mouth when he was able to sit up and catch his breath.

"You didn't want that shirt anyway, it's prison-made," declared Stevens.

The three men discussed the various options for Curry's release attire. The Wyoming Territorial Prison supplied each released prisoner with a prison-made outfit consisting of black suit, white shirt, black shoes, black socks and suitable underclothes plus one dollar to put in his pocket. Kid declined the suit but took the dollar. After looking at the clothes Curry had on when he arrived and the clothes Heyes brought, they made their decision.

O'Reilly made Kid sit in the chair and he and Stevens held out each article of clothing chosen for him to take one at a time. As Curry shed his black and white stripes, they assessed the condition of his remaining bandages; the doctor had changed them the previous day and they remained clean. The guards left the bandages in place. They helped him get dressed, despite protests, exerting their authority as guards one last time. They made him rest for a few minutes even though Kid thought Heyes would be getting worried since things were taking so long.

O'Reilly pointed out he would be even more worried if Curry passed out at his feet from exhaustion or lack of breath. Kid didn't have an answer, so he sat quietly trying to breathe away the returning nausea, keep from coughing, and dabbing at the perspiration the rising fever was causing. When he was ready, the two guards helped him to his feet and guided him out to Reception dressed in the pale blue shirt he wore in, a new pair of pants and socks Heyes brought, his old boots, new long johns, his old sheepskin coat and his hat in his hand. The clothes, even the new items, were big and baggy, but they were clean and they were warm.

Just before they reached the reception area, Curry stopped. He needed to rest even though they were walking slowly. Stevens and O'Reilly steadied him against the wall as they both stood in front of their former prisoner, waiting for him to catch his breath. Stevens nudged O'Reilly's arm.

"Mr. Curry, we know it's too little, too late, but we're sorry for the way things were for you in here. We shoulda, I mean that if we knew a way to…" O'Reilly sounded sincere, embarrassed and unsure of just what he was trying to say. Both O'Reilly and Stevens looked at the gray stone prison floor, the ceiling, anywhere but in Kid Curry's face. Stevens concentrated on readjusting his hold on the carpetbag. There was no adequate apology for what L1314 had experienced and all three men knew it.

"Uhm... We want to congratulate you on your pardon, good luck." The two guards extended their right hands, unsure if Curry would reciprocate. Kid was too tired to work up any anger for the two guards who had treated him fairly and humanely. He put them out of their misery and met their firm grip with his weak sweaty one.

"Thank you." Curry tried to push himself off the wall. O'Reilly and Stevens reached out to help.

They took up positions on either side of the ailing man and resumed his walk to freedom. Stevens joked, to lighten the mood, about Curry learning to walk again, since his strides remained short and shuffling, as if he were still wearing leg irons. Kid thought that would be one of the easier adjustments he would need to make. When they restarted on their way, however, he found that after over a year of wearing shackles continuously, it was easier said than done.

O'Reilly poked his head through the door and waved his hand for the anxiously waiting men to follow.

Heyes was by Kid's side in a flash and started to slip his arm around Curry's shoulder. Stevens, who relinquished his position of support, quickly touched Heyes' arm and gave a small shake of his head no and indicated with his eyes and unobtrusive gesture an alternate hold. Heyes readjusted his arm to the Kid's waist as Stevens mouthed "less painful" behind Curry's back. Heyes nodded his understanding and wondered what the clothes were hiding.

After taking the carpetbag from Stevens, Lom pushed open the heavy prison door. The bright rays of sunshine poured through the door in sharp contrast to the customary gray gloom of the prison interior. Kid stopped in his tracks once more. He gathered his strength, and straightened up. Everyone stopped and all eyes focused on the ailing pardoned ex-outlaw.

"Walked in…walk out…on…own," Kid stated determinedly between harsh coughs, putting his hat on his head firmly, covering his extremely short fine blond hair.

Heyes knew by the set of his jaw and the look in the feverish blue eyes to let him have his way. Heyes and O'Reilly let go simultaneously; the Kid swayed and staggered but regained his balance. Jedediah "Kid" Curry and his friends moved forward into the world of possible futures, leaving the designation "L1314" behind.

The two prison guards watched their former charge take faltering steps with Heyes and the sheriff hovering before he hit his stride and walked, under his own power, into the cold, brisk November morning. They doubted they would ever guard another prisoner quite like Jedediah "Kid" Curry but thought they were better men for having had the experience.

"Kid Curry! Kid Curry! Hannibal Heyes, look this way!" Men behind cameras snapped pictures, as the partners exited the prison. A pack of notebook-wielding reporters rushed towards the Kid and Heyes.

"Damn! Where did they come from?" Nickersen uttered under his breath.

"The pardon list is published in the government records and is public knowledge. I did warn you that I thought it would be of interest to the newspapers," Mr. Grey reminded Nickersen.

Richard Nickersen grabbed Lom's sleeve and pulled him close. "What time does the train leave for Porterville?" Lom answered quietly. Nickersen nodded then spoke urgently to Grey. Nickersen then stopped walking and turned to face the reporters while Lom, Grey and Heyes surrounded the Kid and kept him moving towards the surrey hitched a few yards away.

"Gentlemen of the Press, I'm Richard Nickersen, Mr. Curry's attorney. Mr. Curry has been granted a commutation of sentence and a presidential pardon, which has enabled his release this day. Please respect his privacy. We will be arranging for refreshments at one o'clock and a press conference for two o'clock at Laramie's Range Rest Hotel. Check at the reception desk for confirmation of the time and place. All your questions will be answered at that time. Thank you for your cooperation, gentlemen." Nickersen hurried to board the surrey so they could be on their way. He had a refreshment hour to arrange and a statement for the press to write. He hoped his and Grey's impromptu diversion would keep the reporters and photographers busy enough to allow Kid, Heyes and Lom to board the train for Porterville unmolested.

* * *

"Are Curry and company all gone now?" Gould called after O'Reilly and Stevens as they passed by reception on their way back into the recesses of the prison.

"Yeah, we're reporting back to our duties now," Stevens answered as the two guards continued on their way.

"Wait, O'Reilly, the warden wants to see you right away," Gould informed the young guard.

O'Reilly exchanged a look with Stevens; it was never a good sign when the warden wanted to talk to a guard in his office. He stopped and turned around to go back to see what the warden needed.

Captain Munch was standing next to the large desk and scowling at the door when O'Reilly entered the room. Hardston wore a look of strained patience.

"I'll get right to the point, O'Reilly. We would like you to take a seat and explain just what your relationship to L1314 was. Particularly, we will uncover, either through your own admission or interviews with your colleagues, if any undo assistance, rule bending, or unauthorized speech with non-prison personnel occurred with respect to L1314. If you wish to remain employed in some capacity at the Wyoming Territorial Prison, you would do well to cooperate, O'Reilly," the warden stated in his pompous, arrogant voice.

O'Reilly thought, the moment of truth has arrived. It was time to act on a decision he had made months ago. He could do it now; it felt right. O'Reilly lifted his right hand to the badge on his left chest, unfastened it and deliberately placed the shiny metal disc in front of the warden.

"I don't wish to continue to remain employed at the Wyoming Territorial Prison, Sir. I quit. I'll collect my pay and my things. I'll keep my thoughts and actions over the past few months to myself, with all due respect, Sir," the mature beyond his years ex-guard stated resolutely.

Warden Hardston's mouth dropped open.


	18. Chapter 18

**Terms Part Four - Partners?**

 **Chapter Eighteen**

 _ **November 11, 1884**_

Grey and Nickersen were in the hotel lobby talking to the manager in order to organize the diversion. They had assured Heyes and Curry that the reporters, or anybody else for that matter, were prohibited from accessing Curry's prison record by government order. The reporters could, however, interview prison employees depending upon the restrictions Warden Hardston put in place. Both Nickersen and Grey thought that it was to Hardston's advantage to have as little information as possible in the press, especially after Reuter and Sullivan, the Justice Department officials, arrived shortly. Lom had gone to buy the two additional railroad tickets to Porterville and return the rented surrey to the livery before any reporters arrived back in Laramie.

Heyes and Curry were alone for the first time in over a year. Heyes had helped his partner up the stairs and into Heyes' second floor room. They stood there, Heyes with his right arm around the Kid's waist for a minute while a painful coughing spasm subsided before Heyes turned to face his partner in preparation to guide Kid onto the bed. They stood face to face, both showing the emotional and physical toll the separation had taken. Brown eyes met blue.

"Heyes!" A quiet, heartfelt cry escaped Curry's lips. Heyes reached out and embraced his partner with both arms. Heyes could feel Kid's breath hitch in pain and his body tense. Heyes held on for a little longer, needing the physical reassurance of the reality of his friend's release, letting go when Kid's continued stiffness registered in Heyes' brain.

The Kid, suddenly released from Heyes' hug, pulled back, his legs starting to buckle underneath him as his complexion, already a sickly pale grey, become white as a sheet. Heyes kept hold and sat Kid down.

"Gonna… be… sick." Curry was panting, trying to slow his breathing in an effort to control the rising nausea. He had nothing in his stomach, but the dry heaves continued for several minutes, as Heyes held the hastily grabbed wastebasket in front of him. Large beads of perspiration broke out on the Kid's already sweaty forehead. He finally lay back against the headboard with his left arm folded around his lower chest and his eyes half closed.

Heyes sat on the edge of the bed, forehead creased in worry, second-guessing the decision to leave for Porterville. Perhaps, they should stay in Laramie and find a doctor for Kid. He then remembered the reporters, and how persistent they could be as a rule. Did he want to subject his partner to their attempts to gather information, as he doubted the newspaper people would be satisfied with Nickersen's and Grey's statements?

"Heyes, could you… order me… a bath? …Can I… borrow… your razor?" Curry's quiet questions interrupted Heyes' internal debate.

"A bath? You want to take a bath now? Are you sure you're up to it, Kid?" Heyes asked somewhat incredulously.

Jeez, he knew his partner liked his baths, and he certainly looked and smelled like he could use one, but he also looked like he should be sleeping for a week straight, not soaking in a tub full of bubbles. Heyes caught his partner's beseeching look and reluctantly relented.

"You're in luck, Kid, this here hotel has all the modern conveniences. According to the clerk, the rooms have just been renovated to contain water closets, so we have hot and cold running water. I'll have one ready for you before you know it."

Heyes ran the bath, laid out his shaving kit for Kid to use, put fluffy white bath towels within reach and offered to help the Kid bathe. Kid thanked him for his help but looking very uncomfortable, politely refused. Heyes did understand, there was no privacy in jail and he imagined none in prison either. He grew a little concerned when he heard Kid the lock the door but patiently waited, listening hard for any sounds of distress.

Lom returned sometime later and found Heyes pacing the room. "Where's the Kid?"

"He's taking a bath, but it's been a long time, even for Kid. The door's locked. I've just tried knocking and calling through the door but he doesn't answer me." Heyes agitatedly stared at the door.

"Kid? Kid, are you done?" Heyes called through the door while looking at Lom in growing alarm.

Lom raised his eyebrows at Heyes. "Since when is a locked door a problem for you?"

Heyes looked innocently back at Lom.

Lom nodded at the door. "Seriously, Heyes, open the door."

Heyes bent down and extracted his lock pick from his left boot, explaining it was there for his detective work. The lock took no time at all to open, and he flung the door open. Both men stared at the scene before them. Heyes felt the color drain from his face.

Lom kept the panic from his voice, "I'm going for a doctor. Be back as soon as I can."

Kid was unconscious in the bathtub, which was filled with pink-tinged water. Heyes forced his feet to move forward and heaved a small sigh of relief when he noted the rise and fall of Kid's chest. Of course, the deep purple, brown and yellow colors of what he could see of Kid's torso, the fact that the collar bones and every rib was prominent, and the rapid labored sound of his breathing did little to lessen his mounting anxiety. Heyes kicked the pile of white bandages, heavily stained with brown rusty spots, away from the side of the tub. Curry's head was resting on the backrest of the tub with eyes closed. The inane thought flitted through his mind that Kid had managed to shave, with only a few nicks on his chin and sunken cheeks, and that there was no mustache for the changed man.

"Oh Lord!" Nickersen exclaimed from the bathroom doorway.

"Lom's gone for a doctor; can you help me get him out of the tub and into the bed?" Heyes looked up at Nickersen with a vulnerable look Richard had never seen from Heyes before.

"Of course, let me take his shoulders. You take the legs," Nickersen responded immediately.

Richard moved behind the tub and slid his arms under Kid's armpits. He got a quick view of his client's damaged back, as he lifted the man out of the water. His eyes wide, he muttered half to himself, "It's one thing to read a medical record, and it's another to have it in front of your face."

Heyes looked sharply up at the attorney. "You knew? You knew this was happening, and you didn't say a word to me!" Heyes accused angrily.

Richard stood there holding the dripping man to his chest, water pooling at his feet. "He didn't want anyone to know. I was following my client's wishes. Look, can we discuss this later," he defended himself.

Heyes opened his mouth, thought better of it, then reached in to grab hold of Kid's skinny legs. Curry's arms came up out of the bath; he had been wearing iron manacles, but Heyes recognized the raw excoriated wounds around Kid's wrists for the severe rope burns that they were. Together, they moved Kid from the tub to the bed, laid him on dry towels and got a horrified look at what prison had done to Kid Curry.

* * *

 _ **November 12, 1884**_

Heyes was exhausted. In spite of his exhaustion, thoughts were still racing through his head, keeping him awake. A day that had been looked forward to with cautious optimism and anticipation had taken a sharp left turn into pessimistic worry and a deep-seated fear. He had finally chased Lom to bed shortly after two in the morning, knowing one of them had to get some sleep, and it wouldn't be him anytime soon.

He sat, listening to and watching his partner breathe. The coffee was getting cold. The room was past the point of being warm and was heading towards hot from the roaring fire Lom had built in the fireplace. In spite of the heat and the blankets tucked around him, Kid was shaking like a leaf with chills from the fever that had been building all day. His breathing was ragged and loud in the stillness of the night. Spasms of chesty coughing failed to keep Curry awake.

In fact, Heyes was not quite sure the Kid was even aware of the events of most of the day. Heyes didn't think he'd ever forget.

Lom had brought a doctor to the hotel in Laramie. The doctor treated and bandaged the Kid's open but healing wounds. They all had been shocked by the flayed skin and mesh of lurid stripes covering Curry's back, extending onto his shoulders, neck and flanks. The scabs and older pink and silver scars attested to the repeated brutality Heyes' partner had been subjected to, scars that would be with Kid for a lifetime. The doctor listened to congested lungs and palpated cracked ribs. Curry was able to sip some willow bark tea for the fever and a small dose of laudanum to dull the pain and ease his breathing. The physician diagnosed malnutrition, exhaustion, bilateral pneumonia and two cracked ribs. He saw no signs of infection in the apparently well-cared for wounds. The physician did not approve of dragging the very sick patient on a six-hour train journey, but did agree after the hotel was besieged by photographers and reporters that the journey might be worth the risk.

They had snuck out of the hotel by the back stairs and rear door, while Nickersen and Grey were holding the press conference in the hotel's private dining room. The doctor volunteered the use of his buggy, and he saw his temporary patient safely on the train. Lom and Heyes had listened to his instructions and assured the medical man that Lom had wired Porterville's physician, Dr. Barrett, who agreed to meet them when they arrived. It was the best arrangement at the time.

Curry had slept, slumped against the window, most of the journey, waking when the coughing became violent and painful enough to shake him out of his stupor. Heyes worried about the fever that seemed controllable in Laramie but rose quickly once they were on their way. Lom and Heyes both were relieved when they spotted Dr. Barrett standing on the train platform despite the evening hour and cold temperature.

Porterville's doctor had first treated them as Smith and Jones. He now knew the partners' real identities and it didn't change anything about his concern for his patient. Dr. Barrett confirmed his Laramie colleague's diagnosis when they carefully guided the Kid into Lom's house. He suggested Kid sleep in the wing chair with his legs on the ottoman in the living room. The upright position eased his breathing, and he could be close to the fire for warmth during the inevitable chills. The three concerned men settled Curry, applied cool compresses for the fever, and cajoled fluids into the patient.

The physician had left Curry in Heyes' care, while he went back to his office, in order to return with additional needed supplies. Lom helped the doctor make a poultice of eucalyptus ointment and leaves, which they applied to Kid's chest to relieve his chest congestion and loosen phlegm. Heyes heated water that they added peppermint oil and elderberry to and made Curry breath in the steam to thin the secretions in his lungs and make it easier for him to cough the infection up and out. He left a small bottle of laudanum and left strict instructions for its judicious use. Finally, Dr. Barrett made a tea out of willow bark, goldenseal and Echinacea to help lower the raging fever and fight off the sickness.

The medical man had finally left, leaving supplies, instructions and assurances that he would be back in the morning to check on the patient. Heyes and Lom couldn't help noting, though, the worried frown when the doctor checked Kid's pulse and listened to his lungs one last time before leaving. He did admit on the way out that the prognosis could go either way. They had done all they could, and it was up to Curry and God. The next twenty-four to forty-eight hours would be decisive.

Heyes became aware of coughing, loud and productive. He blinked his eyes and realized he had fallen asleep sprawled on the couch. Heyes sat up with a start, his dark eyes snapping to his partner. He found confused blue eyes with heavy lids at half-mast, staring unfocused back at him.

Heyes struggled to rise from the couch and crossed over to the chair, throwing a quick glance at the fire, which was still burning steadily. Curry's eyes closed. Heyes reached over to place his hand on his partner's forehead, checking for fever. The Kid was drenched in sweat and burning up. He decided to make some more of the doc's tea. He moved his hand to the chest to check the poultice and jerked back in surprise when Curry went from lethargic to combative in a heartbeat. The Kid's left arm swung clumsily at Heyes, connecting but not hurting, as there was no strength behind the punch.

"Take it easy, Kid, everything's alright. You're safe," Heyes reassured soothingly as he struggled to restrain his partner's flailing arms without hurting him. As suddenly as the ineffectual attack began, it stopped. The rigidity and tenseness disappeared, as Kid's eyes fluttered before finally staying open and focusing on Heyes' face inches from his.

"Heyes…where…are…we?" Kid worked to whisper each word.

"Porterville, Lom's living room. You're safe. You're free and you're going to get better," Heyes explained slowly and clearly so Kid would understand.

"Free…I… can… die… a… free… man… now," Kid whispered to himself, barely able to gather enough air to force the words out. Heyes had spent years listening to soft, hard-to-hear sounds. He heard Kid's whisperings loud and clear.

"No! You can live a free man now. Fight Kid, you didn't fight to survive in that hellhole just to give up now. Come on, Kid, I'm counting on you to be the stubborn Kid Curry I've known all my life."

"L1314… Kid… Curry's… dead." Kid's eyes slowly closed, as he took a shuddering breath. Heyes' heart jumped into his throat. He shook his partner's sweaty shoulder and patted his cheeks gently, watching the irregular, shallow rise and fall of the chest. There was no response. Heyes sank onto the ottoman, leaned over and rested his forehead against Kid's.

"I need you, Jedediah Curry. Don't you leave me alone, again. Please fight, Kid." Kid Curry slipped into unconsciousness, but his breathing evened out slightly. Heyes was even perversely grateful for the labored sound, as each breath heard reassured him that Kid was alive. His exhausted mind registered the thought that it was going to be a long, hard battle for freedom, and it was only half won. Heyes was determined to win the war and grimly hoped Kid's virtue of listening to Heyes still existed, for both their sakes.

* * *

 _ **November 15, 1884**_

Porterville's doctor returned his stethoscope to the black leather bag on the small side table in Lom's spare bedroom. He listened to the productive coughing the recent steam breathing treatment caused his patient and smiled reassuredly to the haggard man hovering nearby.

"Well, doc?" Heyes prompted as he pushed his longish dark hair out of his eyes. Both men studied the man lying in bed. Kid Curry had sunk back into the pile of pillows, drained of energy. His previous grey complexion had lost its blue tones to fade to a ghostly pale. There was a flush to the cheeks that revealed the presence of a lingering fever. Dull blue eyes were shrouded with heavy lids as Kid lost the battle to stay awake.

"His lungs sound better, still not good, but better. His pulse is near a fast normal, not galloping away like a spooked horse. His fever is down. The worst of the pneumonia is over. He's breathing well enough even after lying in the bed all afternoon; we don't need to have Jed sleep in the chair anymore." The doctor turned his attention to Heyes as he finished giving instructions.

"I'll leave the dressings off his wrists; they're mostly healed. The ones between his shoulders, I want to leave on for a day or two more. The ribs need to be kept wrapped. Cut down the steam treatments to twice a day, morning and evening. I'll come by to apply a fresh poultice for the night. Wake him up every two to three hours during the day for the tea and a small amount of soft foods. Get some sleep yourself, Heyes."

Heyes nodded after each instruction, his eyes not straying from his partner in bed. Kid looked so vulnerable. His short blond hair had grown back just enough that there was a hint of curl and it was lighter than it been for many years. He had lost the baby-faced youthful appearance from the weight loss but assumed a starving waif look instead. Prison usually aged people, made them look like old men, but not the Kid; the nickname was still apt, Heyes reflected.

"Heyes, Mr. Heyes, are you listening to me? What was the last instruction?" The doc rose from the bed and poked Heyes in the chest.

"Get some sleep yourself, Heyes," Heyes replied by rote.

"See that you do. Doctor's orders. You look plum tuckered out and I don't want you as a patient next." Doctor Barrett gentled his voice as he looked straight into the worried brown eyes, his hand reassuredly on Heyes' arm.

"He is going to recover. It may take weeks, probably months, but he will get better. Right now he needs to breathe as deep as he can, cough the infection up, drink plenty of fluids, eat nourishing food and most importantly, he needs plenty of restful, deep sleep. He doesn't need someone watching him twenty-four hours a day." The doctor started to gently push the concerned friend out the bedroom door.

"Okay, doc, I get the message," Heyes replied as he reluctantly walked the physician to the front door. Heyes closed the door then closed his eyes in relief and thankfulness as he leaned against the wood.

The battle for Kid's life was hard fought. For the first twenty-four hours in Porterville, it looked as if pneumonia would win. Heyes, Lom and the doc took turns applying cool compresses and warm poultices, keeping Kid's torso wrapped to splint the ribs, holding Kid's head wrapped in a towel over a steaming bowel and forcing fluids down Curry's throat. The ailing man did not regain consciousness during their frenzied ministrations. Gradually over the following two days, Kid started to respond to the constant solicitous care until Heyes felt confident enough in the physician's suggestion to move Curry into the more comfortable upstairs spare bedroom.

The de facto nurse sat himself on the couch, picked up the book he'd started but hadn't gotten very far into and stared at the page. His eyes burned from lack of sleep; his lids suddenly heavy, Heyes gave into the exhaustion that fear for his partner's life, fear of feeling somehow incomplete for the rest of his life, and the demands of Kid's care had kept at bay. Soon gentle snores indicated that a much deserved deep sleep for the care-giver was in progress.

* * *

 _ **November 20, 1884**_

It was still early in the morning when Lom passed by Kid's room and peered in the open door to check on his recovering friend. The coughing had lessened of late and he thought that Curry might still be asleep. He found the Kid huddled in the corner of the room on the floor wrapped in a blanket. As he entered the room quietly, he noticed that Curry was trembling and drenched in sweat, his eyes unfocused and staring. The remainder of the bedclothes, sheets, blankets and pillows were torn from the bed and tossed about as if a battle had taken place with the bed the battleground. A lamp was burning brightly even though early morning rays were streaming through the window.

"Kid? What's wrong?" The man on the floor gave no indication of awareness.

Lom squatted in front of the Kid and lightly touched his hand to Curry's forehead. He was surprised to find it cool; he had been afraid that perhaps a returning fever had caused a troubling fever dream. The sheriff shook his friend's shoulder gently.

"Kid, wake up. Are…"

"NO! YOU CAN'T! DON'T TOUCH ME! NO! NO! NOOOOOOO!" Kid yelled, stiffened, threw up his arms and pushed further back into the corner.

Lom fell backwards, astonished, as he heard Heyes pound up the stairs.

"No no…have to…swallow…no…. sick," came out as quiet whimpers from the huddled man in the corner.

"Kid? Lom? What's going on?" Heyes asked breathlessly as he skidded into the room, his stocking feet sliding on the wood floor. He evaluated the situation quickly and noted his partner was focused on a point by the bed and not on Lom or him and didn't appear to be aware of his surroundings.

"I don't know Heyes. I found him like this and when I touched his shoulder to wake him up, he started screaming." Lom couldn't keep his concern and bafflement from his voice.

Heyes slowly approached his agitated partner, speaking softly, "Kid, no one's going to touch you if you don't want us to. You're at Lom's. Kid, can you hear me? Wake up. You're free. You're safe. Time to wake up. It's morning. Kid?"

Curry blinked, pulled the blanket tighter around him, blinked again as his head slowly turned in the direction of the familiar voice.

Heyes watched the expressive blue eyes go from an intense look he couldn't quite identify to shuttered as awareness slowly set in. Kid focused on Heyes in front of him; his eyes moved onto Lom just behind Heyes then slowly swept the room.

"Kid, did you have a nightmare? Is that why you're on the floor" Heyes asked full of concern.

The ex-convict blinked. "I'm on the floor?"

"Where do you think you are?" Lom gently inquired. Kid glanced around then down, his face flushed with embarrassment. He spoke to his lap, "I'm on the floor in my room at Lom's house."

Heyes stood and hesitantly extended his hand out, unsure if Kid would accept his assistance and was grateful when his partner grasped it. Heyes helped him up and the blanket fell around their feet.

"I'll start the coffee and Kid's tea," Lom announced as he left the room to give the partners privacy.

The two men stood, one in red long johns and the other in white, a few feet apart but the gulf between them seemed like miles.

"You want to talk about it?" Heyes used his most understanding voice as he settled down into the chair to listen.

"No," Kid stated, looking at his bare feet before turning to pick up the blanket from the floor, moving slowly, stiffly and carefully avoiding meeting Heyes' eyes.

"Maybe later then, when it doesn't seem so real." Heyes couldn't keep the disappointment from showing but doubted his cousin even noticed since he wouldn't look in Heyes' direction as he busied himself straightening the bed.

Curry thought, _No, not now, not ever. I never want to talk about it_. A sudden coughing fit seized him and he pressed his left hand to his right side and leaned against the bed, his face turning paler.

Heyes heaved himself out of the chair, "I'm going to get dressed then; I'll bring your breakfast up when it's ready." It took a great deal of self-control to not go to his partner's aid immediately but all hurt feelings disappeared when the Kid's eyes started to roll back in his head and he started to reel. Heyes moved quickly and caught him before Curry's head hit the headboard. He lifted Kid's legs onto the bed, straightened the bed linens as best he could and covered his partner.

Heyes bent down and whispered into the blond's ear, "Let me help. Don't shut me out. We're a part of each other, Kid." He hoped his words registered at some level in Curry's mind.

It was later in the afternoon when Heyes once again wished Curry would share his thoughts. Kid had napped on and off all morning in restless sleep, tossing and turning whenever Heyes had looked in on him. Heyes tried to open conversation with leading questions but received one-word answers in return. Kid didn't even respond to innocuous attempts to discuss everyday things, like the weather. Heyes wound up delivering a monologue to a person who would not maintain eye contact. Heyes found it disconcerting as he tried to adjust and find a new way to connect with the Kid.

Heyes was on his way downstairs when his partner's voice stopped him just outside the door.

"Heyes."

"Yeah?"

"Heyes, can you bring me a book to read? Not a dime novel, but a real book."

Heyes thought at first Kid was joking. The sarcastic retort died on his lips when he read the earnestness in his recovering partner's face.

Kid saw the fleeting look of disbelief in Heyes' face and knew he would have to offer some sort of explanation. He steeled himself, tried to summon up the icy calmness like he felt just before a gunfight. Heyes was trying so hard to be patient, understanding and helpful and he deserved something in return; only Kid wasn't at all sure he could talk about prison without losing control of his emotions.

"At night, after work detail when the inmates are locked in the cells," Kid Curry started softly, hesitantly.

Heyes returned to the room, briefly met Kid's eyes, saw the internal struggle and stationed himself by the window, "I'm here. I'm not going anywhere and I'm listening."

Kid nodded. "Alone in the cell, there's nothing to do. Talking is against the rules. The cells are real small and there's not a lot in them, a cot, washstand, a pot, that's about it. Inmates are allowed one book from the prison library but I lost my privileges after only a week in there. I never got them back." His eyes strayed from Heyes' gaze to focus on the clouds he could see through the window.

Curry took a deep faltering breath and exhaled slowly before continuing, "Others, when they lost privileges, were given a Bible but not me. They told me I was an irredeemable criminal and didn't deserve anything. You can only count the cracks so many times, watch so many bugs, make so many pictures in your head."

Heyes could hear the rising anger in the Kid's voice, see it in the hardening of his eyes and the tensing of his jaw. Heyes had been locked in cells without anything to do, but had his partner to talk to or someone else, even if it was only the sheriff. He couldn't imagine being confined to a small space night after night with only his thoughts for company. He would go crazy.

Curry stopped talking as a violent coughing spasm attacked, causing the bed to shake. Heyes came close to the bed and put his arms around the Kid's shoulders to support him. He was dismayed to feel Kid flinch before settling into Heyes' firm hold. When the Kid regained his breath, Heyes released him, offered a glass of water, which the Kid accepted thankfully. Curry settled back against the piled pillows and Heyes retreated to his spot by the window.

"Go on." Heyes was grateful for the opening and didn't want to push for more than Kid was capable of giving, for now, at least, but he needed to know what was going on behind those haunted blue eyes.

"Well, I kept remembering how when we had nothing to do, you would spend hours reading a book. How absorbed you would get that you would forget what was going on around you, and I wanted to forget. I wanted something to take my mind off where I was. A book was something that reminded me of you and they wouldn't give me one lousy book, ever." Kid squeezed his eyes shut hard and clenched and unclenched his fists.

"I'll find you a book, a good one. I'll even read it to you, like I used to, if you want," Heyes promised solemnly, watching the Kid struggle with his emotions and desperately wanting to help.

Kid opened his eyes and talked to the covers, not trusting himself to look at his partner as he had said more than he intended to already. He was afraid to meet Heyes' eyes, knew what he would see and couldn't deal with what was stirred up inside him any more just now.

"Thanks. Appreciate the offer, but I want to read the book myself." Kid turned on his left side facing away from the door.

"I'm tired," Curry muttered, ending the conversation.

"Okay, you rest now. Later, I'll have a good book ready for you." Heyes eyed his partner closely before leaving the room in search of the perfect book for Curry.

Heyes chose an adaptation of Don Quixote originally by Cervantes from Lom's library. He thought the tale of a knight, his companion, chivalry, a damsel in distress, and tavern keepers would be a story Kid could relate to, although, Heyes didn't exactly see himself as Sancho Panza. Heyes also thought, contrary to the popular opinion of his gunslinging partner, that the satire's underlying themes of truth, veracity, and orthodoxy would be understood and strike a chord with Curry, even if he didn't formally recognize it as such.

* * *

 _ **November 22, 1884**_

The saloon was crowded, even for a Saturday night. The music was loud, the saloon girls were kept busy serving patrons at the tables, and the bartenders couldn't keep up with the crowd standing two deep the entire length of the polished wood bar. The tables were filled with drinkers, blackjack players and several friendly poker games.

One poker game in particular attracted a sizable crowd of onlookers. Hannibal Heyes raked in the third pot in a row. He sipped at his whiskey the attentive brunette in the purple satin dress kept filled and glanced at the clock above the bar. It was only nine o'clock. Lom had ordered his houseguest to have a night of relaxation in town and not to return before midnight since he was perfectly capable of attending to his recuperating guest's needs.

Heyes saw the sense in the suggestion. He had spent the last ten days caring for and worrying about his partner and only going outside to do small chores around the house and barn. He knew Kid would be fine in Lom's care. In fact, Heyes had suggested that Lom try to talk to Curry; maybe he would succeed in getting reticent blond to talk when he couldn't.

Heyes looked at his cards - _three fours, not a bad start to the hand_ \- and opened. After the short conversation regarding the book, Heyes had hoped for a breakthrough of sorts but it never materialized. He drew two cards, a pair of twos – _a small full house for sure, but I bet it's better than anything else around the table_ \- and he raised the bet. Curry had fallen back into one-word answers to direct questions, not initiating a conversation at all and giving Heyes a taste of his own medicine by pretending to be so involved in the book he was reading that he totally ignored Heyes or Lom if they spoke. Heyes wasn't buying it and was becoming increasingly frustrated by his partner's reticence. He called and laid his cards down – _another pot won, when will people ever learn the odds for helping two pair aren't good. It doesn't matter if they're aces and jacks._ Heyes looked at the clock, nine fifteen; only two hours and forty-five minutes to go.

The poker players at the table changed as the men took a break. There was no shortage of willing participants. It appeared that the men of Porterville were willing to pay for the privilege of playing poker and being entertained by the great Hannibal Heyes. Heyes was charming, witty and bought the players a round with his winnings every now and then. Heyes should have been in his glory but behind the legendary, outlaw-turned-detective, his mind was elsewhere, trying to solve a problem of utmost importance – How to fix Kid Curry.

* * *

Two men sat before the fireplace in comfortable chairs, their feet up. One was swathed in a blanket close to the fire. A golden glow from the flames lent a false appearance of good health to the painfully thin Kid Curry. Lom stroked his mustache and looked up from his book. The roaring fire had the room warm and Lom was finding it hard to concentrate on the story. He looked over at Kid to see if he had dozed off. Instead, Kid was staring contemplatively into the fire's flames.

"Whatcha thinking about?" Lom's deep voice broke the silence.

"Nothin','" Kid answered automatically, still focused on the roaring fire.

"Yeah? Looked like you were thinkin' pretty hard about something."

"Nothin' I want to talk about." Lom thought that, at least, was a truthful answer; there didn't seem to be much that Kid did want to talk about.

"It might help to talk. I mean, looking at you, we can tell it must have been awful but neither of us really know what it was like for you." Lom tried to explain how maybe sharing his experiences could lessen the burden.

Curry cut him off. "That's right, you can't know. Heyes can never know." Blue eyes flashed with resolute determination as Kid turned his head and looked straight at Lom. The flames served to highlight the sudden tension in the room as they flared and crackled.

"What's that mean? Are you gonna keep everything inside, let it eat at you? Or is it that you don't think Heyes will understand, because I think you're wrong there. That's one of the things that makes the two of you such a strong team, is that you both understand each other so well. You can rely on each other no matter what. That hasn't changed, at least not on Heyes' part. Believe me, Kid, he needs you in his life. The last year proved it to everyone but you. You were always more than a fast gun and you know it." Lom leaned forward, his own dark eyes intense, trying to impress on Curry the truth he needed to accept.

The Kid seemed to shrink back further in the chair as his left hand drew the blanket higher up his body. He returned his attention back to the fireplace and the book fell from his lap onto the floor. He started to speak, his voice betraying a struggle for control as Lom detected a slight tremble in Kid's quiet tones.

"All our lives, Heyes has taken care of me. He's still taking care of me. I owe my life to him many times over. He feels responsible for me."

"Kid…"

"No, Lom, let me finish. Heyes has had enough sadness and guilt in his life. He doesn't need more. If he finds out what it was really like, that genius brain of his will work it out so somehow it's all his fault. Just like me bein' a fast gun or an outlaw. He forgets I coulda chosen to go a different way. Even though I was young, I knew exactly what I was doing then, when I picked up a gun, when I followed Heyes; it was a choice I made." Curry had to pause to catch his breath. He gripped the chair arms tightly. Lom could see his chest and shoulders rising and falling faster and he sat at the edge of his seat in preparation to get up. Curry held his hand up, palm outward in a signal for Lom to stay where he was.

He continued on a little breathlessly, "I knew what I was doing when I turned myself in. I knew it would be hard time and it was, but I'd do it again if I had to. I'm not gonna make Heyes carry any more burdens then he already has. I want to bury it deep, put it behind me and move on with my life as best I can. I don't want to mess up Heyes' new life either. So the sooner I act normal, the better for both of us. Normal people don't talk about prison and I don't want to either."

Lom didn't agree with the Kid's train of thought but knew his friend well enough to recognize the signs of stubbornness. He wouldn't get any more out of him tonight. Kid Curry did stubborn real well, and Lom hadn't yet won a contest of wills between them. A sudden thought struck Lom as he mulled over what Kid said; his choice of words was interesting: act normal, not be normal.

* * *

 _ **November 24, 1884**_

Heyes opened his eyes just enough to peer through his dark lashes. He lay on his side, perfectly still on Lom's comfortable couch, listening for the sound that awakened him. The living room was only lit with the dim glow of dying embers in the fireplace.

Muffled coughing followed by a squeak of a wooden stair disturbed the quiet, as Kid slowly descended the staircase, pausing after every two or three stairs. Heyes watched as his partner, dressed, made his way slowly to the kitchen. He heard the back door open and close softly, remembered the last time, over a year ago, Kid snuck out in the middle of the night, and threw the covers off. Kid hadn't shared his thoughts then and since he'd been released, he was just as closed mouthed.

Kid was up and spending limited amounts of time out of bed twelve days from his release, although he was still unsteady on his feet. To the caregivers, it seemed once Curry found the strength and the will to fight the lung infection, his recovery progressed rapidly. However, as his physical health improved it became evident that his mental health was being assaulted.

He was just as likely to be in a deep sleep or wide awake at any hour of the day or night. During the wakeful times, Heyes and Lom learned always to announce their approach in some way to avoid provoking a startled and sometimes unanticipated violent reaction from the freed ex-convict. Kid became acutely embarrassed, apologized but offered no substantial explanation for reflexively striking out. The two friends, looking at the state of Curry's body, could guess the reasons but every time either Lom or Heyes tried to get Kid to talk about what happened in prison, Kid retreated physically and mentally.

Heyes found his boots tossed by the side of the couch and put them on. He donned his coat that was hanging on a hook by the door and followed his partner's path. Heyes spotted the dim glow of a lantern coming from the barn. Using all the stealth he had practiced first as a thief and later as a detective, he crept up to the outbuilding. The ex-outlaw extended his neck to look through the door and pulled back rapidly when he spied his partner standing in front of his horse's stall. Heyes settled for listening at the slightly open door and taking random peeks inside when he thought Curry wouldn't be looking.

"I'm glad they didn't sell you. I missed you, boy," Kid told his horse as he rubbed the gelding's nose.

The horse nuzzled Curry's neck and nickered softly in greeting.

"Did you miss me too? I bet you didn't miss being run almost to death across half the West. I'm sorry 'bout that, but I'm mighty grateful to you." Kid took an apple from his pocket and offered it to the horse.

"Heyes and me are leaving for Denver in a few days. You have to stay here, for now. It looks as if Lom has taken good care of you, so you shouldn't mind." The horse stopped chewing for a moment and nuzzled his owner's neck again. Heyes, outside, had seen the Kid give the apple to the horse through the small opening and fought the urge to tell his gaunt partner he should be eating it instead. The Kid's appetite, once prodigious and the subject of countless jokes, was practically nonexistent. No one could quite understand the persistent nausea that assailed Curry's stomach when he ate more than a quarter of what he used to eat at one sitting. The doctor advised frequent small nutritious meals to gradually acclimate Kid's system to good and plentiful food, in the hopes that the nausea would resolve itself. No one was joking about the newly-freed man's appetite now. Heyes thought sourly that the Kid would only tell him that he should stop telling Kid to eat and eat the food himself since he was too thin also, if he said anything about the apple.

"I remember thinking how happy I'd be if I never had to climb in the saddle again. Well, it's been over a year since I rode you, and I wish I could saddle you up and ride to Denver, but I can't just yet. I wouldn't be able to stay in the saddle and my ribs couldn't take the jarring," Kid explained to the dark chestnut.

Curry looked around and found a brush lying on the top of a hay bale. He opened the stall door and started to lightly brush his understanding companion. The horse stood cooperatively still.

"Don't worry; I'll be back as soon as I can to ride you back to Denver. Heyes' horse is there, you'll be happy. Heyes tells me he has a business and an apartment there. He's doing good. I knew he would. I hope I don't mess things up. I'm not clever like Heyes, and I'm not really a security expert, at least not from that side of things. I know a lot about security from the convicted criminal side, though." Kid stopped brushing and leaned his head against the horse's neck, inhaling slowly and as deeply as he could.

"You smell a lot better than what I'm used to." Kid inhaled again. "Maybe if your smell is in my head, I can get the prison smell out. Whaddaya think?"

Curry stood quietly by his horse's side, stroking the gelding's flank for a few minutes. He endured a coughing fit then patted the horse's neck before walking out of the stall.

Heyes realized the Kid was on the way back so he crept quietly across the yard and into the house. He would not have enough time to pretend to be sleeping, but at least he could pretend to have waited in the kitchen. He pumped some water and stoked the fire in the stove in order to make some coffee for himself and some "tea" for Kid.

Heyes thought about what he heard from the barn and couldn't help feeling hurt. In the entire time since Kid had been released, Heyes had not heard him voluntarily string that many words together. It was taking all of Heyes' self-control not to question Kid but to probe gently. He knew he had to be patient, he had to be understanding, he had to let Kid reveal his experiences in prison at his own pace, but it caused him anguish that his partner felt more comfortable talking to a horse than to a man he had known his entire life.

He felt a strong need to fix things for his partner, to make things better, easier, more like the way they used to be, but Kid didn't give him any openings and he didn't know how to find a solution if he couldn't identify the problem.

"Mornin', Kid, everything okay?" Heyes asked when Curry opened the door and froze, not expecting anyone to be up and waiting for him.

Heyes watched the blue eyes turn unreadable and Kid's face assume a mask of non-expression as Heyes turned up the lamp.

"Yeah, I was just checking on my horse. Everything's fine." Heyes thought _now_ _that's a lie_ , but nodded his head.

"I'm making something to drink. You want a cup of your tea?"

"That stuff tastes terrible. I don't need it anymore. How 'bout a cup of your coffee?"

"You're sure your stomach's up to it?"

"Yeah, it can't taste any worse than the tea."

The two partners sat at the table. Heyes rooted around and found an orange, which he peeled and put before the Kid. Curry started coughing again and leaned his elbows on the table to regain his breath"

"You okay with me leaving for a day to take care of some business tomorrow? Lom'll look in on you at lunchtime if you need anything. I'll be back on the 11:15 train tomorrow night." Heyes inquired, trying to gauge Kid's true condition.

"You do what you have to, Heyes, I'll be fine, really. I want to finish the book before we leave for Denver."

Heyes looked up from pouring the coffee and decided Kid was being serious. He had seemed to enjoy Don Quixote adaptation. Heyes and Lom enjoyed several evenings devoted to a discussion of the book with Kid listening, following the conversation, but not contributing.

Kid started nibbling at the orange segments. Heyes pushed a steaming mug in the Kid's direction and watched him take a sip from over the rim of his own cup.

Curry grimaced and put the mug down.

"What? You forget how great my coffee really is?" Heyes tried to joke.

"No, it's good, real good. It's just hot. That's all," Kid replied with a straight face.

 _Another lie. I haven't heard him laugh or joke at all; the old Kid would have some sarcastic remark about the coffee._ Heyes kept his sadness and worry inside himself.

"I can wire Nickersen to cancel the Thanksgiving party if you're not up to it. I mean, you're probably going to be worn out after the long train journey. People will understand." Heyes asked for the umpteenth time since Kid overheard Lom and Heyes discussing doing just that.

"No, Heyes, like I said before, normal people have Thanksgiving. I want to be normal. I have to thank all those people for helping to get me the pardon, so I want to go. Please don't wire Nickersen. I promise to rest before and after and tell you if I don't feel well and we have to leave. Okay?" Curry looked across the table to Heyes and pleaded. It was one of the longest speeches Kid had uttered in the last few days. Heyes couldn't deny him his request.

"All right, but I'm gonna be watching you real close, so I'll know if things get to be too much and I'll make you take it easy," Heyes warned Kid.

Heyes didn't mention his other worry. Nickersen had wired that reporters had been seen hanging around the agency office and the attorney's office. Sooner or later, the partners would have to deal with the press. Heyes would need to polish his silver tongue and exercise his verbal virtuosity to shield the Kid from prying eyes and intrusive questions until he was ready to handle them.

Curry took a few more sips then pushed the half full mug away. "I'm tired. Do you mind if I go back to bed, Heyes?"

"No, you need the sleep. I'll most likely to be gone when you get up, so I'll say good-bye now and see you tomorrow night. Take it easy tomorrow. Good night, Kid, sleep well." Heyes watched his partner slowly rise to his feet and make his way up the staircase, pausing midway as once again his fragile frame was wracked by the lingering chesty coughs.

Heyes hoped that the talk to the horse would allow Kid to find peace in his sleep; he wished it was him Kid was talking to, though.

* * *

The morning train arrived in Laramie on time, and for that Heyes was grateful. He only had a limited amount of time to accomplish his goals. He needed to be back on the five o'clock train that evening, since he was uncomfortable leaving Kid alone any longer. He wryly realized that Kid wouldn't be alone since Lom was there. Lom was a good friend, but for better or worse, Heyes felt overly protective towards his partner. So far, the weather was cooperating with his plans, but a cold front was blowing in and the sky was becoming grey with threatening snow. Heyes did not want to be stuck in Laramie for the night.

Heyes worked to suppress the anger that grew with every mile he came closer to Laramie and threatened to erupt now that he was physically near the prison that almost cost Jedediah Curry his life. There would be time later to exact his revenge in some way. Nickersen and Lom had heard, through their own sources, that the investigation of the prison administration was productive. The investigators had asked Nickersen if the Kid would be amenable to an interview, on the record. Nickersen, on behalf of his client, declined, stating serious health issues prevented his cooperation at this time.

The walk to the livery to rent a horse in order to start his search for the young, redheaded guard, O'Reilly, took longer than he remembered from past visits. He reviewed his plan to try to locate O'Reilly.

Nickersen had told him that O'Reilly was no longer working at the prison. The Justice Department investigators had indirectly indicated that they had reliable inside informants that were cooperating with the investigation and a former employee who was proving to be very valuable. Heyes and Nickersen had guessed the former employee to be O'Reilly. Both men remembered the genuine concern, veiled warnings, and secret help the young guard had shown on their various visits. They also recalled that the Kid had not seemed tense around that particular guard.

Heyes needed to know what went on during the one year, three months and six days that Kid Curry was incarcerated. If the Kid couldn't or wouldn't talk to him; Heyes was determined to find someone who would. How could he help his partner if he didn't know what had occurred?

He knew some things; he had seen the thinness, rope burns, welts, lacerations, old scars, bruises, broken bones, all the physical signs of harsh, brutal treatment. He noticed the shuffling small steps Kid still used when walking. When Heyes and Lom remarked on the loss of Kid's easy, long-strided saunter, Curry did explain why. The fact that he wore leg irons almost continuously from the time he was in court to his release was one of the few things Kid did say. Heyes had seen him shackled, but had assumed that was just for precautions during visits, not a restraint worn all the time. Even in the best of times Kid was laconic but presently the man of few words seemed to become the man of no words and it was driving Heyes crazy. Heyes had had some vague notion that prison would be along the lines of jail but more so. He intellectually knew his idea was overly simple but until Curry told him otherwise he didn't know in what ways. He needed O'Reilly to help him fill in the blanks.

Heyes pulled open the door to the livery and called out, "Anybody here?" since no one was immediately visible either in the office or the barn.

"Yeah, I'll be right with you," answered a somewhat familiar voice.

A young redheaded man walked out from the tack room in the back.

Heyes couldn't believe his luck!

"Mr. Heyes! I sure didn't expect you. What can I do for you? How's Mr. Curry?" O'Reilly greeted Heyes, as he walked up the aisle.

"Mr. O'Reilly, correct? You work here now?" Heyes checked.

"Yep, I quit the prison. Don't make as much here at the livery, but I make up the difference with a second job as a night watchman at the First Mercantile Bank on the weekends. At least I can feel better about myself now that I'm out of that place. Believe it or not, I feel like I served a prison term of sorts myself. Now, are you here for a horse? And you didn't answer my question. How's Mr. Curry?" O'Reilly suddenly was nervous around Heyes, he seemed serious and angry. O'Reilly fervently hoped Heyes would tell him good news regarding Curry but knew Curry had been very ill when he finally won his pardon. The prison doctor thought at the time that the prisoner wouldn't survive.

"No, actually, you're the reason I'm here. Can we talk?"

In the end, the talk with O'Reilly was satisfying, unsatisfying and horrifying. Heyes assured the concerned ex-guard of his former prisoner's gradual return to health. Heyes learned generalities. O'Reilly was forthcoming about the Wyoming Territorial Prison rules and regulations. He spoke about general procedures and prison life but he refused to divulge any specifics regarding Kid Curry's experience other than the work details Kid was assigned to. He politely, but firmly, stated that Heyes would have to get the information from his partner. O'Reilly had betrayed his privacy once to the Pardon Attorney's Office representative; he would not betray what he knew was important to Curry again.

Heyes wasn't happy, but he did respect the ex-guard's decision. It didn't, though, keep Heyes from probing and trying every way he could think of to obtain the information he felt he needed. O'Reilly finally admitted that Kid Curry was subjected to treatment as near to physical and mental torture that he and his guard friends had ever seen. He would not elaborate or say another word about the Wyoming Territorial Prison.

Frankly, O'Reilly was becoming very wary of the ex-outlaw. His entire demeanor changed during the conversation and O'Reilly could see how the man earned his reputation as a leader and as someone you wouldn't want to cross. Heyes' dark eyes and angular features projected controlled, cold, hard anger. Heyes straightened up, ran his hands through his hair and the dangerousness was concealed; in its place a calm, thoughtful, authoritative man stood.

Heyes was thankful it was a slow day at the livery and the interruptions were minimal. The talk was winding down, and O'Reilly needed to get on with his duties. Heyes started to open the livery office door and take his leave when a sudden thought struck him.

"O'Reilly, if you ever decide to move on, think about Denver. Kid and I have a detective agency. We could help you find work or maybe you could even work with us, although I would have clear things up with my partner first. Here's my card, keep it, in case." Heyes handed the stunned man his business card.

"You seem like a decent man, even if you were a prison guard. Thanks for doing what you could, when you could, for my partner." Heyes offered his right hand and O'Reilly joined him for a solemn handshake.

"Thank-you Mr. Heyes for the offer, but I'm sure your partner would have a lot to say and very little of it good." O'Reilly shook his head sadly, thinking of what Curry had endured and the opportunity he was losing.

"Don't sell Kid short, O'Reilly. He knows an honorable man when he sees one, and he knows what it's like to have to do things you wouldn't normally choose to do. When you're ready, come see us, you never know."

Heyes left the relative warmth of the stable and went to seek some liquid lunch. He needed a drink and the diversion of poker before undertaking the journey back to Porterville. He had a lot to think about and would take the time on the train to do so. Right now, he couldn't think about what he had heard.


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter Nineteen**

 _ **November 26, 1884**_

At seven o'clock the night before Thanksgiving, the normally busy commercial district of Denver was quiet. A new street of brick buildings, with businesses on the first floors and living quarters above, appeared deserted with not a person in sight. The storefronts were dark but a smattering of lighted windows dotted the street from the upper floors. Two men, bundled up against the brisk wind, loaded down with saddlebags and carpet bags, turned the corner and hurried down the boardwalk, keeping close to the buildings. Leading the way, the dark-haired man slowed his step in order for his companion to catch up with him. He stopped mid-way down the street in front of a dark red door between two darkened businesses.

"Here we are, Kid." Heyes opened the door to the small tiled foyer. He held the door open and let his partner enter first. He closed the door behind them then fished his keys from his pocket and repeated the procedure at the inner door.

"Up the stairs and to the right," The Kid was instructed as he begun the slow climb up the wooden staircase.

Kid Curry was breathing heavily when he reached the first floor landing. He waited patiently, leaning against the wall, unsuccessfully trying to suppress his coughs, while Heyes opened the sturdy apartment door and gestured the way inside with a flourish of his arm.

"Home, Kid," the proud partner said with a satisfied smile as he entered and lit the lamp.

Kid stood just inside the door, awkwardly looking around, "So this is where you live."

"This is where we live," Heyes confirmed.

Kid noted the change in pronoun. He readjusted the saddlebag on his left shoulder that was slipping off its perch and took a few steps into the living space.

"I'll show you your room. You can put your stuff down then I'll give you the grand tour - apartment and our office right below us." The anticipation and excitement in Heyes' voice was mixed with uncharacteristic nervousness as he led his partner down the short hall. He wanted Kid's first impression to be just right.

Curry stood in the doorway, his eyes taking in the bedroom - his room. It was painted a pale sky blue. There was a window in the back wall and a window in the side wall, both with dark and light blue striped curtains. The furniture consisted of a brass bed, a dark cherry bedroom set consisting of a bureau with mirror, bedside table and wardrobe and a small dark blue upholstered chair. A painting of a mountain lake landscape hung over the bed. He tentatively stepped inside, dropped his hat on the bureau, his bags on the mattress, and noticed the quilt was of the same design his mother had made for his childhood home. Kid trailed his hand over the large brass bed that resembled the one from their Devil's Hole days and rested it on the worn gun belt and holster hanging from the bedpost.

He removed the .45, opened the gate, inspected the chambers and barrel, checked the balance and gave it a spin before replacing the pistol in the holster.

"You cleaned it recently, thanks." Kid finally looked towards Heyes, who had remained leaning in the doorway, a sincere smile on his face.

"Before I left for Wyoming. Can't have Kid Curry with a dirty gun, can we?" Heyes teased.

"Heyes, this is nice. I mean everything, the details…curtains, we ain't never had curtains…I mean at Devil's Hole we just had wood shutters, the bed, the quilt, you have my stuff on the dresser, everything…it's nice." Kid looked genuinely stunned, but in a very pleased and happy sort of way.

Heyes opened the door at the end of the center hall with a flourish and a smile, "I know you'll appreciate the bathroom. Indoor plumbing with hot and cold running water. You can take a bath whenever you want."

Kid's eyes lit up at the sight of the deep clawfoot porcelain tub. He noted the sizable sink and a matching porcelain commode and tank. A small sigh of satisfaction escaped as Kid mumbled under his breath, "Not a chamber pot in sight."

Heyes dimples deepened. "Come look at the rest of the place. It's not big but it's ours. We're the first tenants, it's new, the price was right and it's convenient; it's a good deal."

As soon as the last few words left his mouth, Heyes wanted to take them back. The fact that the previous good deal was disastrous for Curry did not escape his thoughts. He watched Kid's reaction closely, berating himself for ruining a good moment.

Curry stiffened briefly, blinked then groaned, "Aw Heyes, I don't know how many good deals I can afford." Then a grin formed and he started to laugh.

Heyes' smile returned and he joined in the laughter, the sudden tension drained away. Heyes was acutely aware that these were the first genuine laughs and smiles from Kid since his release. It was a major milestone as far as he was concerned.

* * *

Heyes was playing tour guide through the office, issuing a running monologue describing the rooms, the decision to open the agency, the current work and his plans for their futures. It had been a long, hard road, traveled alone, to reach the point where the business was starting to turn a profit. Heyes felt he had provided the foundation, but now that his partner was present, "The Heyes and Curry Agency" would truly be The Best in the West.

Kid found himself feeling a little overwhelmed, trying to take in everything. He tagged after Heyes, and interjected at the appropriate intervals. Curry felt his faith in his partner's promising future was vindicated as he looked around the neat and tidy main office, reception area and conference/office room.

The partners were standing in the main office with Heyes prattling on. Kid's attention kept wandering to the big window along the front, the window that had "The Heyes and Curry Agency, Investigations and Security, Best in the West" in big gold letters across it. It took him a moment or two to decipher the words from the inside since he was reading them backwards and he wondered about his partner's unfailing faith and optimism. He noted organizational details typical of Heyes. There was a long narrow desk along one wall that supported a tall pigeonhole shelving unit that appeared to be well stocked with railroad and stage line schedules, reminiscent of Heyes' Devil's Hole roll top desk slot contents. On the opposite wall, maps were mounted on corkboards with notes pinned to various locations. Bookshelves, file cabinets, visitor chairs, and two desks with chairs completed the room's contents.

"Kid, Kid are you okay?" Heyes asked from right in front of Curry.

"What? Yeah, I'm fine. I was just looking around. I'm sorry, what were you saying?" Curry answered, giving himself a little shake.

Heyes looked more closely at his cousin and realized that he didn't need to show and tell Kid everything tonight. The journey from Porterville to Denver, a stop at one of Heyes' favorite cafes for a quick meal and then the walk to their street had taken its toll on Curry. The dark circles under his eyes had deepened against the pale skin. He was still not breathing well, coughing intermittently, needed to rest after exerting himself, and the lingering pain from his healing broken ribs was still in evidence when he moved. Heyes tamped down his enthusiasm and indicated the desks that abutted each other.

"That's your desk and this one's mine." Heyes pointed.

Kid pulled out the large wooden chair on casters and sat in his designated spot. He looked across at Heyes who sat at his desk. He noted on Heyes' desk neatly stacked folders along one side, the usual desktop accessories, an empty whiskey glass and the back of a silver frame. He stiffly leaned across the desks to turn the frame around and bring it closer, expecting to see a picture of Heyes holding his amnesty papers. Kid ruthlessly banished the fleeting wish to have shared in the monumental moment, knowing there was no going back, he had to focus on the present and future or he would lose his mind.

"What did you do, break into the Denver First National Bank's lockboxes?" Curry asked when he recovered from the initial shock of seeing the picture.

Heyes chuckled, then became serious, "No, it was a birthday present of sorts. Clementine gave me the photograph as a gift on your thirtieth birthday."

Blue eyes sought out brown across the few feet of wooden desks and an understanding of the loneliness each man had lived with passed between them. Heyes' gaze indicated the lone folder in the middle of the desk blotter of Curry's desk. Kid carefully opened the folder and looked up for reassurance. Heyes gave a go-ahead-and-read-it nod of his head then thoughtfully watched the man opposite start to read through the official legal documents.

When Curry had finished reading through the pages, his expression was undecipherable. Heyes, who considered himself an expert in delving beneath Kid Curry's best unreadable masks of non-expression, was none the wiser as to what was going on behind this mask.

"Happy belated thirtieth birthday, Kid. I'm really glad you're here," Heyes solemnly stated as he held his hand out with a pen in his palm, grateful.

"The business is half yours. Nickersen, with your power of attorney, and I signed the partnership papers on your birthday. It's not strictly necessary, according to Richard, but I'd like you to sign the amendment for him to file now that you're able to sign for yourself. We want to keep everything legitimate and law-abiding, don't we?" Heyes explained. He was getting a little unnerved at Kid's continued completely unreadable expression.

Kid reached across to take the pen, studied it but then rolled it between his fingers absently while he struggled to gather his thoughts.

"Heyes, the partnership…the whole thing, I never…" Kid's voice faltered, he ran his hand over his short blond hair and cast his eyes back again to the papers on the desk before him.

Heyes remained silent, waiting for Curry to continue. He noted, not for the first time, that the man looked more like a vulnerable, bewildered boy than a hardened, gunslinging, outlaw who had just spent over a year in prison.

Heyes' musings on the different direction the partners' physical appearance took when under stress was cut short and his attention was jerked back to the present.

"The name, "The Heyes and Curry Agency", the legal partnership papers, two desks, the apartment with a room for me that's just right, the fact that you kept my gun, my horse and all my things, Heyes, why? I was serving a life term. The odds for the pardon and commutation of sentence were about as long as you can get. You're an odds player; there was no pot, I had nothing to ante. Why?" Kid was looking at him with such an earnest face as if he genuinely couldn't understand, which made Heyes think hard about his answer.

"I guess, 'cos we've been best friends, partners, all our lives that I don't know how to live any other way and I didn't want to learn. Besides, you're not an odds player, despite all my great instruction over the years. You stubbornly insist on playing according to gut instinct and you act from your heart. You win more times than you rightly should, so I was betting on your gut and counting on your heart to get you through until the big payoff came. As far as the 'ante' …" Heyes swallowed hard as if the thought itself brought pain and leaned forward over the desk. "…you paid with over a year of your life. The $10,000 bounty money was the stake to get me started but I can never repay you, no matter how many thousands of dollars I can save, for your sacrifice."

"Heyes, I…"

"Kid, I know."

Both men were in danger of unmanly displays of sentimentality. Heyes shifted in his seat and Curry renewed his inspection of the pen. Finally, Kid looked up, found Heyes still watching him, allowing unguarded access to his thoughts that Kid alone was granted, and he signed the papers.

Curry yawned loudly, breaking the mood.

"Come on, it's been a long day and you must be worn out. Let's go home. It's not far." Heyes eyes twinkled in the lamplight before he stood and went to help his partner, who suddenly looked drained of energy.

Curry swayed slightly when he rose and grabbed the desk to steady himself as Heyes hovered. The two made the way through the office, Kid taking one last glance over his shoulder at the picture window's gold lettering. He had a lot of confidence in himself in a limited number of areas but this was not what he considered his area of expertise.

He did not want to fail his partner. He would need to work hard, learn quickly and prove himself to Heyes and to the clients. Curry thought while potential clients might have been tolerant of the Curry part of the name as an indulgence to the clever, smart half of the team, once there was an actual Curry in the office it might be a different story. He didn't know how people would react to a convicted felon, a gunslinger, who had done time in prison. What if they were right? What if everyone thought of him as an irredeemable violent criminal? He would have to keep a careful watch that he didn't become a liability to Heyes.

Kid stepped onto the boardwalk when Heyes realized he had left the lamp burning. He held out the keys to the tired blond.

"You start up. I'll be right behind you." Heyes walked quickly back into the main office to turn the lamp out. His eyes caught a flash of light reflected off the silver of the picture frame. He walked over and picked the frame off Kid's desk where Curry had left it. _Don't need this here anymore. Kid is now sitting at the desk and before he's thirty-one._ He took the picture with him as he rushed out of the office. _There's a nice spot on the fireplace mantle for this._


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter Twenty**

 _ **November 27, 1884**_

Richard Nickersen caught his wife around the waist in the hall leading to the formal dining room. The slightly plump blonde woman looked harried but happy as she carried a tray of hors d'hoeuvres before her. Richard leaned down, pushed a stray curl away and whispered into Audrey's ear.

"Have I told you how lucky I am to have married you? Thanks for today, Audrey; not too many wives would have this kind of Thanksgiving without batting an eye. It means a lot to them after the past year they've had." Richard kissed the top of a slightly mussed head as his wife gave a little laugh.

"It's a bit exciting and this Thanksgiving will give us all a unique memory," Audrey replied as she turned her head and sought her husband's lips, only to blush when her eyes caught her teenage daughter, Adele, staring at her parents with a vaguely horrified expression.

Richard continued the kiss and winked at his daughter, who quickly turned back into the kitchen. The couple broke apart; Audrey hurried to deliver the tasty tidbits to her hungry guests and Richard went to check on the guest of honor.

The lawyer parted the kitchen curtain and peeked outside, where he spotted the object of his search. Jed Curry was standing on the back porch in the early afternoon sun staring up into the pale blue cloudless sky. Nickersen thought he still looked like a strong wind would blow him away but not as spooked as when Heyes and Curry arrived earlier in the day. He also noticed he was not wearing a coat. Though the day might be sunny, it was by no means warm and he was concerned for his client's health. Richard didn't want to intrude as the man had had little enough privacy and more than enough orders in the past year.

The men had congregated before the holiday meal in Richard's office. Big Mac McCreedy was in a lively discussion with Nickersen's father-in-law on the trials and tribulations of running a business. Harry Briscoe had Lom Trevors cornered by the fireplace regaling Lom with new detective techniques the B. D. I. was employing to catch criminals. Soapy Saunders, Silky O'Sullivan, Clementine's and Georgette's current beaus, Jacob Byrne and Matthew Taylor, along with Heyes, were clustered in front of Nickersen's book shelves, deep in discussion and sipping aged scotch. Richard peered into the study and managed to catch Heyes' eye. While waiting for Heyes to make his way over to him, Richard wondered where his father was. Karl Nickersen had been engaged in a "who can top this storytelling contest" with Heyes, to every listener's amusement, but was nowhere to be found now. He also realized he hadn't seen his son for a while and wondered if he should be concerned.

"You wanted me, Richard?" Heyes asked as he came alongside his host.

"Jed is outside without his coat. I thought maybe you could ask him to come back inside or at least bring him his coat. He's on the back porch," Nickersen explained.

Heyes nodded and started towards the back of the house. They had only just arrived in Denver the previous day and the doctor had not been especially pleased that Curry had declared himself well enough to travel. The doctor had issued comprehensive instructions and dire warnings to Heyes on the consequences of noncompliance for the care of his partner. The concerned physician had also made Curry promise to follow the instructions to keep warm, keep his ribs wrapped, drink plenty of fluids, take his medication as directed and, most importantly, to get plenty of rest.

Heyes had debated about them coming but some of the guests had made long journeys to join in this memorable Thanksgiving. They had not known how ill Kid was when the invitations were sent. The Nickersens, in hindsight, realized how optimistic they had been and that Richard really should have known better for he had witnessed Kid's physical decline. However, Nickersen became caught up in Heyes' eagerness and genuine delight over Kid's release that he allowed his common sense to be overruled. Kid, on the other hand, expressed his strong desire to adopt a normal life, at least what he thought a normal life should be, and insisted on coming once he overhead Heyes and Lom discuss wiring Nickersen to cancel the celebration.

Heyes had intended to watch his partner like a hawk, especially since when they arrived at the Nickersen's, the Kid had acted like a spooked colt when the other guests had rushed to greet him. It took more than a few moments for Curry to compose himself but he then slipped into his customary affable charm. Heyes was distracted by Nickersen's exuberant father and lost track of the Kid's whereabouts.

Inside the kitchen, Heyes could hear the remnants of chesty productive coughing originating from outside. He needed to assess Kid's mental state then get him inside as quickly as possible.

"Kid, everything all right?" Heyes asked before he realized the absurdity of the question. Of course, everything wasn't all right. Since Heyes knew that all right was a relative concept and what was considered all right at the moment would not be all right in the future but he was willing to take things slowly, one day at a time, for a lifetime.

Curry finished coughing, shuddered slightly and turned to his partner. "Yeah, I just needed some air. I'm fine." He met Heyes' troubled look briefly before starting inside. Heyes followed.

Heyes recognized the lie by the veiled look in Kid's eyes and quickly decided now was not the time to open a discussion that wouldn't get anywhere anyway. He was hoping that when Curry's health improved and the partners settled in a new life, Kid would be able and willing to share his turmoil and unburden his soul.

The partners entered the parlor to be fussed over by the women. Georgette was humming a tune to Inga Nickersen, Richard's mother, while Clementine was making small talk to draw Audrey's shy, quiet mother into the general conversation.

The Kid was shivering slightly despite the warmth of the house as his body attempted to recover from his sojourn outside. Clementine, who was standing next to Curry, absently rubbed his arm. A look of jealously passed over Jacob Byrne's face as he came to join his girlfriend from the adjoining room until he noticed Kid Curry's brief recoil at Clem's touch.

"Dad, what are you wearing!? Where did you get that?" Richard sputtered when he caught site of his missing parent coming down the stairs, followed by his grinning thirteen-year old son, Tommy.

Heyes looked up only to burst out laughing; he couldn't help himself. Karl Nickersen looked like a big blond Viking come to life, trying to play cowboy.

The robust man, who looked younger than his sixty odd years, was wearing a very new leather gun belt low on his wide hips and tied to his tree trunk of a right thigh. In the holster was a shiny brand new Colt .45. Tommy was behind his grandfather, jumping up and down on the stairs in his excitement.

"While the girls went shopping for last minute groceries, Tommy and I had more important shopping to do. Tommy agreed; I couldn't meet the Fastest Gun in the West and the Leader of the Devil's Hole Gang without the proper accessories. I was hoping Kid Curry could give us a quick fast draw lesson before the turkey is ready," Karl answered innocently while trying to draw the revolver.

Heyes and Kid instinctively ducked then sheepishly exchanged an amused glance.

"Dad, no one is giving fast draw lessons now or any other time. They are no longer outlaws and besides Jed isn't well enough for that. The sheriff here will not be happy with you waving that gun around. Will you please act your age and put that thing away?" Richard admonished his father while directing a stern look to silence his son's ready defense of his grandfather.

Inga Nickersen gave an exasperated look at her son, then shot a scolding scowl at her husband. Karl Nickersen was unperturbed. He was extremely proud of his son, the attorney, but the fact that Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry were not only his son's clients but having Thanksgiving at his son's house made the normally responsible man act like his grandson. He reluctantly headed back up the stairs with Tommy trailing, like two very disappointed little boys.

"I'm sorry about that; my father sometimes is a big kid and Tommy gets his love of dime novels from him. He actually bought Tommy his first Devil's Hole Gang novel," Richard started to apologize.

"No need to apologize, Richard; he didn't shoot anybody so no harm's done," Heyes cut him off, still chuckling.

Kid leaned towards Heyes and muttered in his ear before heading up the stairs.

* * *

Curry climbed the stairs, pausing halfway up to catch his breath. At the top of the stairs he pressed a hand against his ribs and suppressed a coughing fit after only a few soft coughs. He hesitated before turning left. Kid walked down the hall until he came to the last room and found who he was searching for.

Karl Nickersen was standing with his back to the door, unbuckling his newly-purchased gun belt. Tommy reclined on the bed with a dime novel by his feet, watching his grandfather.

"May I see that, Mr. Nickersen?" Kid inquired, nodding to the belt in Karl's hand when he turned at the sound of the voice.

Nickersen mutely held out the gun belt for Kid to take. Kid laid the belt on the bed and removed the gun, checked the balance and proceeded to unload the .45 before laying it back on the bed.

"We don't want any accidents, do we?" he explained. Curry picked up the gun belt and fastened it low around his hips. It was bigger than his own; in addition, the weight he had lost in prison meant he had to fasten the buckle at the last hole and the belt still almost slid down off his hips. He tied the thong around his thigh. Kid Curry picked up the pistol, casually performing some complicated spins before he twirled the gun into the holster. Karl and Tommy Nickersen smiled.

"Now, are we all agreeded that nobody needs know what we're doing?" Curry looked from one eager face to the other and received quick affirmative nods.

"I haven't done this for a long time so I don't think I'll be very fast but I'll try." Kid assumed his stance, took a slow controlled breath, trying not to cough again, and drew lightning quick, aiming at the window. A split second later he doubled over in pain, clutching his ribs, gasping with shallow breaths.

"Tommy, go get Mr. Heyes." Karl Nickersen said calmly to a wide-eyed Tommy.

"No wait… please, wait… Tommy, don't go," Kid managed to pant out as he worked to gain control over his pain and breathing.

"I'm fine…Just give me… a minute."

Tommy glanced at his grandfather for confirmation. The older man nodded and the boy came back to sit on the bed.

Karl put his arm around the Kid's shoulders to help Kid sit on the edge of the bed. His strong arms steadied Curry when he jumped at the touch and started to slide off the side. Karl started to apologize profusely for acting like a child.

"It's okay, I understand. I wasn't thinking either. When I'm healed up, I'll be happy to teach you to shoot accurately, with permission from your father… or son, but I won't teach you to fast draw. That's a skill that I hope neither of you will ever need." Kid explained when he could breathe normally again.

"By the way, Karl, you bought yourself a fine piece of hardware. If you have a steady hand, it should shoot straight and true. Nice choice." Karl beamed - Kid Curry approved of his gun.

"Do you need help going down the stairs, Mr. Curry?" Nickersen Sr. asked solicitously.

"Please call me Kid or even Jed. No, I'm going to sit here for another minute then Tommy and I will be down. You go right ahead. I'm fine, really," Kid assured the would-be fast draw. Karl Nickersen looked the Kid up and down; he was very pale but not ashen, and decided the guest of honor was mostly telling the truth, then left the room.

Curry leaned back on his left arm and felt something poke in his side. He grabbed the offending object out from under his back and came face to face with _Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry, Parted Partners: Railroad Rescue Runs Wrong._

"That's the very latest one; it's only a couple of months old. It's the only one Heyes wouldn't sign. He said he'd wait until you got out of prison. Now that you're out, maybe the both of you can sign it. I'm not supposed to pester you and ask but maybe you can sign all the other ones, too. When you're all better, of course. My father would kill me if I asked you to sign all my novels now," Tommy asked in a rush as he hopefully glanced sideways at the ex-gunman on his bed.

The Kid was flipping through the pages, scanning paragraphs here and there and looking at the simple line-drawing illustrations. The basic plot was simplistic and ended with Heyes receiving his freedom, and Kid Curry going to prison after sacrificing his chance for freedom to save his partner. Curry sat staring at the last page, lost in thought. The author had no idea, no insight, into what the parted partners had experienced. Heyes had not accepted the split philosophically but planned, fought for and tirelessly worked to remedy the unacceptable circumstances and it had extracted a mental and physical toll.

There was no noble, heroic act or decision on Kid's part, only realistic cold practicality. He wasn't the stoic hero portrayed, but was scared to the point of being sick. The humiliation of the first day in prison was only a prelude to horrors that no one who didn't live through them could ever fully understand.

Kid was suddenly aware of Tommy watching him intently, as he dragged his eyes from the book and laid it down with a shaky hand.

"Heyes signed all your dime novels but this one, huh."

Tommy nodded and pointed to his full bookshelf. Kid's sad blue eyes widened, he didn't realize there were so many dime novels written about them.

"We're not folk heroes, Tommy."

Tommy solemnly nodded his understanding. Heyes, in reality, had turned out to be better than the dime novel character and he had no doubt that Kid Curry would live up to and exceed the character as well.

"You have a pen?" Kid held out his hand and gave the thirteen-year old a smile meant to dispel the gloom that had come over the room.

* * *

Florence, the youngest Nickersen child at eleven, carefully carried a full gravy boat to the table and placed it near Heyes without spilling a drop. She gave him a shy smile before scuttling to her seat. Audrey, who was walking behind her, put down the cranberry sauce, smoothed her skirt and was the last person to be seated.

Richard smiled affectionately at his wife from across the large, fully laden, and crowded with animated guests, dining room table. To his right sat Jed, who was patiently listening to Big Mac next to him. The Texas rancher was demanding Curry come to Texas to breathe good, dry, Texas air and fatten up on prime, Texas beef. To his left, Heyes was once again engaged in a verbal contest of wit with his father. New friends and familiar relatives soaked up the wafting, wonderful aroma of the feast before them. Richard cleared his throat and tapped his wine glass lightly with his knife.

"I had prepared a few remarks but was tactfully persuaded to forgo the speech. We are gathered here to give thanks for the friends and family in our lives, for all the good things that occurred throughout the year and most importantly to give thanks for Jedediah Curry's freedom. Dad, would you please say Grace." Everyone around the table bowed their heads.

"Bless us, O Lord, and these thy gifts which we are about to receive from thy bounty through Christ our Lord. Amen."

As Kid listened to Karl's deep, slightly Norwegian-accented voice recite the traditional prayer, a feeling of nearly overwhelming nostalgia washed over him, bringing rushing images of remembered childhood holiday meals. He raised his eyes, blinking back threatening emotion, to his lifelong friend, more brother than cousin, and met the steady, empathetic brown eyes of Heyes.

Neither would have called themselves blessed during the past year but sitting here in Denver, surrounded by new and old friends, they realized there were many blessings to be counted in their lives. The partners looked across the dishes, glasses, food, candles and flowers and silently gave thanks for the most important blessing of them all - each other. No words were necessary as both knew the emptiness that being alone brought and the hope, strength and love each provided through even the darkest time in their lives. An almost imperceptible nod passed between them; yes, they were blessed all along.

Richard Nickersen stood at the head of the table, carving knife in hand, before a large, perfectly cooked turkey.

"Pass your plates."

Soon the clinking of crystal, the scrape of silver on china, and the rise and fall of multiple conversations, the sounds of a Happy Thanksgiving, filled the Denver home.


	21. Chapter 21

**Chapter Twenty-One**

 _ **December 1884**_

It was an unseasonably warm early December day and the residents of Denver were bustling about the streets in unusual numbers. A thin man with an old, worn sheepskin coat hanging open and a floppy brown hat covering his short blonde hair made his way unhurriedly through the mid-afternoon crowd. He moved along the boardwalk, staying in the sun, wincing once or twice when he was accidentally jostled.

Kid was whistling quietly to himself, happy to report a successful mission to his partner. This was the first week in his new job as a partner in "The Heyes and Curry Agency". Heyes had brought him up to date on all the current outstanding assignments. They were going over bits and pieces of information and the physical evidence of one particular case that had Heyes momentarily stumped when Kid had plucked a dented shell casing off Heyes' desk and examined it closely. It looked very similar to ones he had, on special occasions for special needs, purchased himself.

The casing looked like the work of one reputable gunsmith, conveniently located in Denver, who had a disreputable side business. The talented individual could and would manufacture custom loads and special modifications for ammunition or firearms, at a steep price, for customers he trusted. Kid Curry had been, in his outlaw days, one of those customers.

Kid had paid his old acquaintance a visit this afternoon and successfully verified that the casing had been one of his special loads. Curry probed no further but picked up subtle clues that narrowed the purchaser possibilities. He valued the man's past loyalty, as the gunsmith had never turned him in, despite the large bounty. He would not ask him to compromise his clients. Kid also realized he might have need of the man's particular talents in the future, albeit for law-abiding reasons and, in fact, while he was there the gunsmith had recommended and performed a small adjustment to Curry's .45. Kid Curry was happier that he had been in a very long time.

Curry turned to the corner of his street and started down the boardwalk. He wondered if Heyes had beaten him back to the office from the library where he had gone to do some research. Kid casually noted several people looking in shop windows and one man about his age loitering in a nearby doorway. As he neared the office door the loiterer, dressed in a dark suit and overcoat briskly walked in his direction.

"Mr. Curry, Mr. Curry, do you have a few minutes? I'd like to ask you a few questions," the reporter called out while digging a small notebook out of his overcoat's pocket.

Curry stepped up his pace and continued towards "The Heyes and Curry Agency's" door, noting with dismay that the closed sign was showing. He glanced quickly up and down the street hoping to see his partner striding to the rescue but was disappointed.

"Mr. Curry, I'm Caleb Burke from the 'Kansas City Herald' and I want to congratulate you on your pardon and ask a few questions. Certainly, you won't mind a quick interview." Burke had reached the doorway first and stood blocking Kid's access. His voice was smooth and confident, his manner projected easy familiarity and false friendliness. Kid disliked him instantly.

"Actually, I would mind giving an interview. I have nothing important to say and I'm very busy at the moment. Thanks anyway," Kid replied, fiddling with the keys in his hand.

The reporter was not deterred and did not move from in front of the door. He spoke fast, "Why don't you let the readers be the judge of what's important, Mr. Curry. There's a tremendous amount of interest in you and your partner. I promise I won't take but a few minutes of your time. You were serving a life term in prison and a little over fifteen months later the President granted you a pardon. Many people are wondering about that. Care to comment?"

Curry could feel his heart start to race and sweat start to form on his forehead. "No, like I said, I have nothing to say. Now please just leave me alone," he tried to reach around the man to put the key in the lock.

Burke moved slightly to his right but stayed in front of his quarry. Every reporter based in the West and quite a few from the East had tried to get Curry on the record and no one had succeeded yet. His smooth-talking partner, his attorney and his friends were effectively shielding him from inquiries. Even the government was hiding something about this man; Burke had tried to get a look at Curry's prison record only to find it was sealed by government order. He was determined to get some printable comments. It would be quite a coup for his by-line to print the story straight from Kid Curry's mouth.

"Come on, Kid, you were a partner in a business while you were still in a prison cell. How much did it cost your partner and you to buy your way out of the Wyoming Territorial Prison? Was the money some of the loot you had stashed? What's it like to go from a convict to a ready-made position in a business you didn't have to work for?" Burke gambled; if he could provoke Curry maybe then Curry would be compelled to defend himself and explain, thereby giving him a story. It was worth a try since nothing else anyone tried had worked.

"Mister, you don't know me well enough to call me Kid and I think you should leave, now," Kid warned in a low steady voice, rising panic quickly turning into anger. His jaw tensed and his back stiffened as he finally got the office door opened.

"What's the matter, Curry? You don't want the public to know what an easy time you had in prison? Did your big name and big reputation get you special treatment while you waited for your smooth-talking partner to grease the politician's palms?" The reporter grabbed Curry's shoulder hard in an effort to halt his progress inside.

Curry's right hand flashed to his thigh while he spun around. Before the reporter knew what was happening, he found himself slammed against the building's side with a Colt .45 pointing right between his eyes. Burke's eyes went wide and his mouth opened but no sound came out. Curry was breathing hard and staring at the helpless man with stormy blue eyes. His finger tensed on the trigger.

"Kid! What's goin' on? Are you alright? Kid!" Heyes' far-off sounding voice penetrated the dense red fog in Curry's brain as he stood there with his gun pressing into the frightened man's forehead.

Heyes had turned the corner and spotted the Kid at the office door with a man in a suit behind him. He idly wondered if the man was a potential client when to his horror, in the blink of an eye, Kid had the man against the building and pinned with his Colt. To Heyes' practiced eye, it looked as if the Kid was ready to pull the trigger. Heyes broke into a run.

Curry inhaled slowly then exhaled, working to calm himself. He lowered the .45, stepped back and finally looked at Heyes. "Mr. Burke is a reporter for the 'Kansas City Herald' and was just leaving. Weren't you Mr. Burke?"

"Yeah, maybe another time, Mr. Curry, when you're not so busy." The reporter straightened his coat and attempted to regain his dignity.

Heyes gave his partner an evaluating look and noticed the still tense jaw, the almost gunfighter stance and a hint of panic in the blue eyes. He doubted anyone else would notice, as for all outward appearances Kid Curry looked like he was in control, but Hannibal Heyes knew Kid Curry was on the edge.

"Kid, why don't you go inside? I'll be right in. I want to tell you what I found," Heyes calmly suggested before he turned his attention to the offensive reporter.

Kid entered the office and closed the door behind him.

"Now Mr. Burke, what did you want with my partner? Perhaps I can answer your questions?" Heyes tried to control the damage.

"If that's how fast he is when he's out of practice, I would've loved to see him draw on someone else when he was in his prime." Burke shook his head in reluctant admiration mixed with relief. "That's just it, Mr. Heyes; I don't want you to answer my questions. You've been answering everyone's questions. There are thousands of words written from your interviews but nobody's gotten your partner to say a word, not one," Burke answered, annoyed. He muttered under his breath, "Not that you've said anything substantial."

Heyes heard the remark and suppressed a smile.

"I just asked him about the pardon and what prison was like. Why is the record sealed? Things like that and the next thing I know, he's ready to shoot me. I guess the rumors of his hot temper are true." The reporter glanced in the office window.

Heyes put his arm around the reporter's shoulder, started to loosen his silver tongue as he walked the man down the street, talking all the way. Inwardly he could ruefully relate to the reporter's frustrations. Kid wasn't talking to him about anything substantial either.

Curry sat at his desk, his left elbow resting on the surface, head in hand with his right hand massaging his sore right ribs. The tension in his body dissolved into slight trembling as the blinding anger he felt moments ago dissipated, anxiety and fear left in its place. His right hand left his ribs and both hands started to rub his temples, hard, in an attempt to forestall the coming headache. Kid Curry's good mood from earlier in the day all was but forgotten.

He thought he had mastered his temper years ago, and here he was back at square one. No, worse than square one as he realized if Heyes hadn't intervened at that exact moment he wasn't sure if he wouldn't have pulled the trigger. He lost control with a gun in his hand. That was not good. That was something he had never done before. He might have lost control with his fists or his words but never with a weapon. With a weapon, he was always in control, always knew what he was doing; it was the reason he went to prison and not the gallows. Kid gloomily reflected that a gallows might have been the better option.

"You want to talk about it?" Heyes' quiet voice interrupted Kid's downward-spiraling thoughts.

Kid lifted his head and saw his partner standing at his side. Kid looked in Heyes' eyes and didn't see recrimination, disappointment, or anger, only concern and empathy. Kid opened his mouth but then shut it as he dropped his head back into his hands.

"Kid, it looked as if you were going to pull the trigger. That's not like you. The man's an insensitive jerk but not worth committing murder just to get rid of him. You need to let some of what you're holding in out before it destroys you. You deserve a good future, Kid. You can't move forward until the past is dealt with. Haven't we learned that? Wasn't some of the reason why we turned out the way we did due to us running away from our pasts, not talking about it, just burying it deep like it never existed? It didn't work then and it won't work now. We've stopped running, Kid." Heyes pulled his chair around to the side of Kid's desk, sat down and waited, hoping his partner would talk to him. Kid looked shaken and pale; maybe this would convince him to open up.

Curry raised his head once more and dropped his hands to the desk. He turned slightly towards Heyes in his chair then twisted and glanced at the gold letters on the front window. He read the words that had become a symbol of his partner's faith in him, "The Heyes and Curry Agency, Investigations and Security, Best in the West." He could not fail Heyes, he would not fail Heyes. Kid pulled himself together.

"I asked him nicely to go away but he wouldn't. He asked about prison and I wouldn't answer him. He said I had an easy time in prison while I waited for you to pay off the politicians with our stolen loot. The next thing I know I have the .45 between his eyes. I'm sorry Heyes. If you hadn't come I don't know if I would have pulled the trigger or not." Curry stopped and brought his hands up to rub his temples again. "It wasn't easy, Heyes. It wasn't easy at all." Kid's anguished pain-filled blue eyes dropped back down to stare at the floor.

"I know, Kid. I know it wasn't easy. It was hard, the one time they let me visit you. I could tell it was the hardest time in your life and I'm sorry you had to go through it alone. You're not alone anymore; we're in this together. Let me help. Tell me. Let me carry some of the burden. Please." Heyes laid his hand lightly on Kid's knee and felt the resulting slight shudder.

Kid slowly shook his head, "I know and I'm grateful but I can't, Heyes, I just can't." Curry abruptly got up from his chair and walked to the coat rack. He searched his pocket, found what he was looking for and returned to his desk, tossing the small brass object at Heyes.

"Look familiar," Kid asked as he pushed the troubling incident into the dark recess of his mind.

Heyes sighed, disappointed. He wondered what it was going to take to get through to his partner. The narrowly averted disaster plainly wasn't enough to get through that stubborn head. He would have to keep trying before something he couldn't fix happened. Heyes glanced at the object in his hand.

"Yeah, you found where it came from?"

"Well you remember that gunsmith that I used to use ..." Kid proceeded to explain, in greater detail than Heyes really wanted to know, his afternoon's findings and activities.

* * *

 _ **January 1885**_

"Heyes?"

"What?"

"This new account, do you want it filed by the mine owners' name or the mine's name?"

"The owner's name."

"Which owner's name? There's a bunch of them."

"The one who signs the checks. Jeez, Kid, alphabetize the owners and file by the first one closest to A."

Heyes finally looked up from the mound of paperwork on his desk and gave an annoyed look at his partner. Curry was standing at the file cabinets, pencil tucked behind his ear with a short blonde curl wrapped around it, a stack of folders at his feet and a file in hand, studiously avoiding looking in Heyes' direction.

"I know that's how we've been doing it but I've been thinking, for the business clients maybe we should file by the business name and divide the files into commercial and personal drawers. We're getting busier and it might be easier to locate stuff that way, or we can use different colored folders for each type of client," Curry suggested.

"Like I've been saying, we need a secretary to worry about those kinds of things. Did you go to secretarial school, Kid, when I wasn't looking? I guessed you missed the prison classes on filing." Heyes didn't try to keep the sarcasm out of his voice. He was too busy trying to get the accounts straightened out to worry about what drawer the files went into. They needed at least part-time help and his partner was being unaccountably obstinate in his refusal to acknowledge the need.

"Never mind, I'll figure it out. Don't worry about it." Kid quickly suppressed the hurt tone, as he was well aware of his shortcomings.

He had vowed to take on all the extra mundane tasks so Heyes wouldn't be overburdened and silently cursed himself for giving Heyes an excuse to bring the secretary issue up again. Curry braced himself and mentally rehearsed his argument for when the inevitable talk occurred. It was getting harder to come up with valid reasons as Heyes was right; they could afford at least a part-time girl and there was definitely plenty of work for her to do. But then he would have to explain the real reasons - he was uncomfortable around women, it didn't matter if she was young and pretty or not. And if the woman just happened to young and pretty because Kid didn't think Heyes would hire an old hag, which is what they needed – a homely, old efficient spinster - he was afraid if he started to feel attracted to a woman that he couldn't do anything about it; he wasn't a man anymore. Besides, one look at his unclothed body would send her shrieking and running away - and why he felt that way. That was one conversation he needed to avoid at all costs. So, he was going to be Kid Curry, Investigator, Security Expert and part-time Secretary.

Heyes grunted as he studied the paper in his hand. He glanced at the calendar then at the map of Montana pinned to one of the corkboards.

"Kid, come here, willya," Heyes directed.

Curry jammed the file into the open drawer and went to stand behind Heyes, looking over his shoulder.

"One of us has gotta go up to Helena to finalize the arrangements at the Blue Star Mine..."

"I'll go, no problem." Kid quickly volunteered.

Heyes looked up, 'You didn't let me finish."

"I know what has to be done, Heyes. I'll go." Curry walked over to the pigeonholes and searched for the appropriate railroad schedule.

"It's the middle of winter. Once there, you might have to ride out to the mine if there's been any change. Who knows what the weather will be like. Are you sure you're up to it?" Heyes asked.

"I'm fine, Heyes." Kid stated firmly.

Heyes silently disagreed with Kid's statement but didn't want to start an argument. He studied his partner who was studiously reading a schedule. Kid had gained some of his weight back but was still too thin for his frame. The ribs had healed. His stamina had improved and outwardly, if he was dressed, he did look fine. However, the external scars were still vivid under the clothes and the internal scars ran deep. People rarely saw the once-expressive blue eyes but met a shuttered gaze. Faint purple rings shadowing those eyes attested to his continued trouble sleeping and the relentless drive to do more than his share of the work. Heyes was reminded of Kid's need to prove himself worthy to the gang members when he joined the Devil's Hole Gang, only now there was only Heyes and nothing to prove. Heyes already knew his worth.

Clients were initially wary but rapidly accepted Curry and appreciated his practical intelligence, attention to detail and professionalism. In fact, Heyes remembered with pride, a few repeat customers were starting to ask for Kid instead of Heyes.

"I'll leave tomorrow on the nine-fifteen train," Kid announced.

"Did you check for asterisks?" Heyes teased.

Curry scowled back at him, not bothering to reply. Heyes turned back to the papers on his desk.

"Let's go over the original plan, so you can answer all their questions."

Kid quickly ran his finger down the schedule and gave a mental sigh of relief, there were no asterisks. He dragged his chair over to Heyes desk and started to unfold the map from the file folder.

* * *

"Richard, nice to see you. Come on in. What can I do for you?" Heyes greeted the big sandy-haired attorney. He ushered his friend into the inner office while unbuttoning his coat that he had just put on.

"Good to see you too, Heyes. I came by for two reasons. One, before I forget, is would you and Jed like to come for dinner Saturday night? Audrey and I are having a few friends over for dinner and would like you to join us," Richard Nickersen asked, then looked slightly uncomfortable.

"What friends, Richard? These wouldn't be female friends, would they?" Heyes asked with a smile.

Audrey Nickersen had taken it into her head that Heyes and Curry needed women in their lives. She had taken an almost motherly interest in the Kid even though she was only about ten years older than him. Her view was that a woman's love might help him heal. Heyes, she thought, was an intelligent, witty, and handsome eligible bachelor but good-naturedly conceded he might not be the marrying kind. But then again, if the right woman came along maybe he would. Heyes was amused by her efforts; Kid was polite, gentlemanly but shy and emotionally distant.

"Not this time, Heyes, only married friends," Richard answered back, relieved his friend took his wife's efforts in the spirit in which they were intended.

"Actually, I really wanted to talk to Jed. Is he here?" the attorney inquired as he looked around for signs of the other half of the pair.

"No, he's in Montana. He should be back by Thursday. Is there anything I can do for you?" Heyes noticed the change in Nickersen's demeanor from friendly to serious.

"I've received a letter from Reuter and Sullivan. You remember, from the Justice Department. They finished their investigation and have turned over their findings and recommendations to the Attorney General's Office in Cheyenne. It appears that the Attorney General is going to proceed with trying to indict Warden Hardston and Captain Munch for various crimes and misconduct. They want Jed to testify in front of a grand jury that will be convening in early spring." Nickersen watched Heyes' reaction.

Heyes' expression hardened, his eyes narrowed and he leaned forward across his desk, "I hope they nail the bastards and lock them away in their own prison for a very long time."

"That's the problem. In order for them to put them away for any length of time, Jed's testimony is going to be important."

"Why? What can he tell them that others can't?" Heyes asked holding Nickersen's eyes.

"He still hasn't talked about his time in prison, has he?" Nickersen's voice sounded full of concern. He evaded answering Heyes' question since the answer would only cause more unanswerable questions and increased anxiety. Nickersen's worry for his friend's well-being increased when the Justice Department officials relayed their request with the information that of the only other two released inmates that were mentioned by cooperating prison guards, who were victims of unmentionable abuse, in addition to Curry, one was an uncooperative drunkard and the other died by his own hand.

"No, he hasn't. And neither will anyone else who might know something. Not O'Reilly and not you," Heyes answered his tone a mix of accusation and exasperation.

"I wish I could tell you what I know, Heyes, but I can't. You know that. How's he doing?" Nickersen replied sincerely as he maintained eye contact.

Heyes believed him.

"Putting up a good front but not doing well at all." Heyes sat back in his chair and contemplated Kid.

Nickersen got comfortable in the missing partner's chair and appeared ready to listen.

Heyes needed someone to share his worries with and during one of the most difficult years of Heyes' life the attorney had become a good friend and next to Lom Trevors, one of the very few people, other than Kid, whom Heyes felt comfortable showing his true self to. He talked about Kid pushing himself too hard; the continued nightmares that Kid thought he was hiding from Heyes; his moodiness; the fact that some days every time Heyes turned around Kid was right behind him, like a shadow, but other times he disappeared for long periods, and it wasn't all target practice; his continued revulsion of being touched and stubborn refusal to talk about anything that happened.

"Richard, you could ask anyone who knew Kid before he turned himself in to describe him in five words or less and you would pretty much get the same answer from all of them - fast draw, food, sleep and women, not necessarily in that order. Now only the fast draw still applies. He could fall asleep anytime anywhere at the drop of his hat now he has more trouble sleeping than me. His legendary appetite is nowhere near what it used to be. In fact, he still gets pains and sick to his stomach if he eats just half of what he used to put away in a sitting, and Kid used to be a magnet for women. They couldn't resist those baby blues or the boyish charm. Most women either want to mother him or corrupt him. Kid never met a woman he didn't like in some way. He was such an easy touch for anything in a skirt." Heyes stopped talking and his eyes lost focus momentarily.

He had a revelation of sorts regarding his partner. Kid was avoiding women; he seemed almost afraid of them for some inexplicable reason. Now that he thought about it, Kid's behavior around women was downright peculiar even around girls he knew. Clementine had remarked how hurt she felt that Kid was stiff and distant, not his usual affectionate self. Georgette had also commented about Kid's apparent unease around her.

In one of Heyes' more desperate and misguided attempts to get Kid to relax, he had dragged his cousin to a saloon that they used to frequent when they were still on the run in the hopes that a saloon girl that Kid had had a special attraction to was still there. Ever since Curry had discovered sex, he had used sex as a means to celebrate, relax or find a type of comfort in the arms of a woman. But it was more than just sex; Kid genuinely liked female company. He liked just talking to them and was willing to really listen to a girl's opinions, troubles, or stories. Women certainly had a place in Heyes' life but he was choosier and just as likely to use poker and whiskey for the same reasons. Kid went for the girls over cards or a bottle almost every time. Not now though; Curry couldn't leave that saloon fast enough and practically jumped out of his skin when his former favorite congratulated him on his new freedom. Heyes thought then that maybe he was worried about the girl seeing his scars but now wondered if it was something else. He was suddenly aware of Nickersen's neutral expression and probing eyes.

Heyes cleared his throat; there was something significant here. He didn't know what yet but would have to think further on the subject. "Anyway, he's different now with women. Maybe it's the scars, maybe it's something else but I aim to find out. I want my partner back. Do you want me to ask him about testifying? I'll lay odds that he won't."

"No, don't say anything yet. I'll talk to him privately when the time is right. I don't know if he'll have a choice about testifying. They may issue a subpoena; although an attorney would much rather have a willing than a hostile witness on their side." Nickersen sighed and rose from the chair.

"Take care of yourself too, Heyes. See you Saturday."

"Yeah, I will and we'll be there." Heyes waved a hand absently in the air as his mind chased a thought.

Maybe I'll hire a male secretary, he thought as he caught sight of the neat piles of papers on his desk and the precarious larger piles on his partner's desk.

* * *

 _ **February 1885**_

The horses were cantering across the New Mexico desert. Their destination was in sight. The train was still refilling at the isolated water tower along the tracks. Heyes and Kid could see the fireman unhook the waterspout from the engine and stow it in its designated spot. The realization that they wouldn't make it in time hit both of them at the same moment. Heyes slowed his horse to save the animal's energy. Kid spurred his mount to a gallop as the train pulled away from the water stop.

"Catch my horse and bring him back with you! Wire the sheriff in the next town to meet the train! I'll meet you in town on the next train back!" Kid yelled over his shoulder as he rapidly pulled away from Heyes in pursuit of the train.

"Kid! Kid, don't!" Heyes yelled but Curry was too far away to hear.

Cursing, Heyes spurred his horse in pursuit of his partner, his eyes on Curry. Giving in to the reality of failure, he could only sit on top of his blowing mount and watch.

Kid had his horse running flat out, pacing the accelerating train close along the track. Heyes watched as his partner stood in the stirrups and slipped his right foot out in preparation for a leap. Heyes held his breath when Kid reached out with his hands and grabbed the ladder on the side of the baggage freight car, lifted his body up and out of the saddle and held on. He exhaled in relief as Curry safely put his feet on the ladder and started to climb to the top of the car. Heyes' heart pounded in his throat when Kid pulled himself onto the roof, stood and swayed as the train jerked, then proceeded to run along the cars until Heyes could no longer watch since the train rounded a bend.

Heyes remained staring down the tracks for a few minutes before he roused himself and started after Kid's horse, which had stopped some distance away.

As Heyes led the slightly panicked gelding back to town he alternated between being livid with anger, weak with fear and prideful with admiration that Kid could still jump a train that way.

* * *

The blond disembarked from the train and looked down the platform for his dark-haired partner. He waved hesitantly, not sure what his reception would be since Heyes' reply to his telegram had been shorter than usual, even for Heyes.

"I'm back. Your plan worked like a charm. The Topper, Tipper and Posner Distillery must be happy. We'll have a nice check waiting for us when we get back to Denver. The sheriff was Bob Montgomery, you remember Montgomery; he used to be the sheriff up in Rawlins. He said congratulations and told me to say hello to you. Said he's glad we're on his side of the law now," Kid babbled on as he walked alongside his silent expressionless partner down the train platform towards the station.

Heyes stopped just outside the station building and rounded on his partner.

"Will you shut up! My plan, my plan..." Heyes stuttered in fresh anger. "My plan was for you to board the train when it was stopped at the water stop, not jump from your horse like some dime novel hero. Jeez, Kid, what did you think you were doing? Do you realize you could have been killed?"

Curry looked hurt - Heyes' anger stung. "I've done it before. You've had me do it several times, if fact, if you recall. It didn't bother you then," Kid defended himself.

"That's when there was $30,000 on the train; the train was slowing down not speeding up; and the gang was waiting up the tracks. Not when it was an embezzler sitting in the passenger car! It would've been nice to keep an eye on him but he really wasn't likely to jump off the train, now was he? Embezzlers aren't train robbers, they're kinda bookish. This fella was fat and fifty, didya really think he'd jump?" Heyes was in Kid's face and Kid could see the real fear Heyes must have felt.

"I'm sorry Heyes, you're right as usual. I wasn't thinking. I thought we wanted to make sure he arrived at the next station," Curry answered contritely.

"I did, Kid, but I want you alive more. Just don't be so reckless." Heyes was calming down. He extended the olive branch.

"Come on, I'll buy you a beer before we head back to Colorado."

The two men walked through the station and down to the nearest saloon in companionable silence. Kid was happy Heyes appeared no longer angry. Heyes was deep in thought. This was just the latest episode in his partner's increasingly reckless acts. Kid always had a reckless streak but lately it seemed a mile wide and not all of them could be easily justified. It seemed to Heyes that living with Jed Curry was like living and working with a hundred and sixty pounds of nitroglycerine; one false move and it's all over.

He wished he could get Curry drunk in order to loosen his tongue but had tried it already with unsatisfactory results. Kid rarely drank to excess before; it was too dangerous for wanted men to lose control. Sometimes they would take turns over-imbibing but it really wasn't Kid's style. After his release from prison, he would sip a whiskey or a beer and make it last hours. Three was the most Heyes could ever get him to drink and that wasn't enough to relax his tongue. Heyes came to the conclusion alcohol wasn't going to provide the means to his end.

They reached the saloon and chose a table in the quiet back corner. A pretty redhead delivered a beer for Kid and a whiskey for Heyes and lingered, trying to stir up interest. Kid didn't seem to notice and Heyes shook his head no politely. The girl took it in stride and sashayed away.

"Kid?" Heyes talked into his whiskey.

"Yeah?"

"Can I ask you something? Will you try to give me an honest answer? You may need to think about it first, but don't lie to me, okay?" Heyes shot the whiskey down, signaled for another and prepared to take a plunge into seriously deep waters. He had to ask and didn't want to wait until they got back to Denver.

Kid braced himself, didn't answer and wondered how he was going to dodge whatever bullet Heyes was going to shoot at him.

"Are you trying to kill yourself?" Heyes' penetrating eyes closely observed his partner's reaction.

Kid bit his bottom lip and stared into his beer. He didn't know what he expected Heyes to ask but it surely wasn't that. He swirled the amber liquid and didn't know what to say. The silence stretched on but Heyes didn't drop his gaze. Kid shifted in his seat and took a sip of the beer. He thought about the question.

Curry believed he wasn't trying to kill himself but he might welcome death if it happened. He sometimes thought he was losing his mind. Dreams that should be fading with the passage of time became more vivid instead. He only slept when exhaustion forced a dreamless state. He lost count of the nights he woke up covered in sweat, heart pounding and in imaginary pain. He was reliving hell all over again.

He alternated from needing to be near Heyes to remind of him that he had a future, that he meant something to Heyes, to needing solitude so he could center himself amid the roiling emotions within. He was afraid, very afraid, he was going to hurt someone when the control he needed slipped from his grasp. He only hoped Heyes would not be the one who suffered most. He felt lost; he didn't know how to find himself. The effort of acting normal when he was anything but normal, not after what he had done, was taking too much energy. Was he putting himself in dangerous situations for a reason? Did he really want to die?

"No, Heyes, I am not trying to kill myself," Kid looked directly into those penetrating eyes and answered solemnly. "Why did you ask me that?"

 _At least not on purpose_ , he mentally amended.

Heyes saw cautious truth in the shadowed blue eyes and closed face.

"You've been reckless, Kid. More so than in the past and we have so much more to lose now."

Curry waited patiently for Heyes to continue as the need to talk was plainly written in Heyes' face.

"There was Arizona a few weeks back. The livery fire. There were others that were getting the horses out. We got ours safe but you had to go back for the last one. Do you know how scared I was that I was going to lose you? How I felt when all I could see was your silhouette against the flames, struggling with the panicked mare? You stopped to gentle her out when there was no time. People were holding me back and I couldn't get to you. And when you managed to stagger out, the walls caving in right behind you, covered in soot, with your shirt over the mare's eyes and you collapsed at my feet, gasping for breath and wretching, I wondered if a horse was worth your life. Was it Kid? Was a horse worth our future?" Heyes finished his whiskey in one gulp, embarrassed at his words but determined to finish. He signaled for another.

Curry leaned forward, wanting to reassure his partner and maybe himself. "I have a way with animals. I'm good with horses. You know that. I couldn't let her burn without trying. I wasn't thinking. That's not new. You've been upset with me lots of times for doing stuff like that."

"Then what about at Big Mac's, that hellion of a stallion, the one that couldn't be broken. I know you can tell Big Mac no, that you won't do something. In fact, you told him just that later. If his ranch hands were having a hard time and couldn't break the horse, it wasn't our problem. We weren't working for him. We were visiting, resting up. You didn't have to try. But no, you had to get in the corral with seventeen hands of muscled fury and flying hooves. For what? You insisted Mac set him free and it wasn't because you gave up." Heyes stopped as the redhead delivered Heyes' whiskey. She glanced at Curry's half-filled beer glass. Curry politely declined a refill.

"Heyes, slow down, that's the third whiskey since we sat down. Do you know you're drinking more than you ever did?"

"You're driving me to drink. I was drinking when we were apart and now you're driving me to drink again. But we're not talking about me, we're talking about you."

Kid felt like he had been punched in the gut. He hadn't thought about how his actions were affecting Heyes. Was trying to make things easier for Heyes really making things worse?

Kid had to admit that his foolishness with the black stallion should never have occurred. He was thirty now and that kind of work was definitely a young man's job. The contest of two strong wills must have been frightening to watch as Curry repeatedly dodged flying deadly hooves to remount, only to be violently tossed off minutes later. The bruises had lasted a long time. Kid also couldn't forget the look in the big brown eyes of the stallion as he held the horse's head by the bridle close to his own head. They mirrored how he felt not too long ago. Curry had dropped the leather and left the corral; an understanding had been arrived at between man and beast. Kid didn't have the heart to break such a proud, strong-willed animal. The black didn't deserve such an ignoble fate. It took a while but he finally persuaded Mac to free the stallion to live as nature intended.

Heyes also remembered Kid's about-face regarding the stallion. His partner went from determination to impose his will over the animal to an even fiercer determination that the horse should be set free.

"You're not that stallion, Kid," Heyes interrupted Kid's musings with his astute perception.

"I know, Heyes." Curry sipped his now warm beer, "I'll try to be more careful. Don't worry; I'm not trying to kill myself. It's just me not thinking."

The Kid smiled a tired smile at his partner. Heyes understood him better than he understood himself. No, he wasn't trying to kill himself but he wasn't sure about living either. He didn't know how to explain and desperately wished Heyes would give up trying to help him but he knew Heyes never would. Which was better, grief that would fade, constant underlying tension or one more heavy burden Heyes didn't deserve?


	22. Chapter 22

**Chapter Twenty Two**

 _ **Early March 1885**_

"It's good to be home, even if we did leave the warmer weather behind us," Heyes stated with an air of contentment as the partners left their office for the evening.

"Home," Curry shook his head in mock amazement. "I still find it hard to believe. What a difference from Devil's Hole, huh, Heyes? Heat and indoor plumbing, with hot and cold running water and flush toilet, it's a good deal."

Heyes turned his head sharply and met Kid's poker face.

"You should see your face. I'm fine. It is a good deal." A big grin broke out across Kid's face.

Heyes returned a dimpled grin of his own. "You wanna cook, go to the café or to 'The Iron Horse Saloon'?"

"I'm kinda hungry. How 'bout the café? A steak dinner sounds good," Kid answered as he turned to idly watch Heyes lock the office door.

Out of the corner of Curry's eye, he caught sight of a man, in his mid-thirties, casually dressed, coming towards them at a brisk walk. Kid took note that the man's right hand was shoved into the pocket of his coat, but not casual-like. His eyes narrowed, it looked like the man was holding something inside the pocket that he didn't want seen. He instinctively stepped in front of Heyes, and faced the unknown threat.

Thoughts flashed through his brain faster than rounds from his .45. _Bounty hunter, could be a derringer in the pocket, no, not wanted anymore. If it was someone challenging him, thinking he was easy pickin's after prison, like that hotshot in Arizona, wouldn't he have a gun belt on? Besides, a showdown wasn't likely in the middle of Denver. Damn, he didn't recognize the face at all. Wasn't walking like a client either, the walk was too purposeful. I hope it's not another reporter._

An icy calmness stole over the Kid in the few minutes that it took the walker to reach the partners. Heyes turned around, sensing the change in his cousin, and looked questioningly at Curry. He saw nothing amiss to provoke the Kid's gunfighter stance and demeanor.

"Mr. Curry?" The man stopped in front of the Kid.

"Can I help you?" Heyes rushed to answer.

"No, thank you. You must be Mr. Heyes. I need Mr. Curry." The hand was still jammed into the right coat pocket of the unknown person.

"Are you Mr. Curry?" he asked the Kid once more.

"Yes, I am. What can I do for you?" Curry answered with a sense of dread.

"You can take this. Good-bye." A white envelope was withdrawn from the coat pocket and thrust at Kid Curry, who grabbed it reflexively. The man turned on his heel and walked briskly away without another word, leaving both partners staring after him.

"What is it?" Heyes asked after several moments of watching the retreating stranger.

"I don't know," Curry answered, staring at the envelope in his hand.

"Why don't you open it? That might help," Heyes replied with a straight face.

The younger man slowly opened the envelope, peered inside and removed the contents. Heyes watched his partner's face drain of color as he read the sheets of paper in his right hand. The blond quickly looked right then left as if he wanted to run, then his shoulders drooped; he took a few steps backwards and leaned against the brick building. His hands sank to his side, still clutching the papers and he closed his eyes.

"What's the matter? What is it? Kid?" Heyes asked urgently. Heyes couldn't imagine what kind of letter would provoke this kind of reaction in his cousin.

Curry held out his right hand with the papers for Heyes to take.

"Oh. Oh no, it's a subpoena to appear March 30, 1885, at the Court House in Cheyenne, Wyoming, to testify before a grand jury." Heyes continued to read the papers but there didn't appear to be any options other than for Jedediah Curry to present himself at the designated time and place.

"Don't panic," Heyes advised.

"Don't panic. Don't panic? I can't testify in court. I can't answer questions in front of people, in public, where anyone can hear. I can't, Heyes. I can't! What am I gonna do?" Curry pushed himself off the bricks and looked at Heyes, trusting him to have an answer, a scheme, an excuse, anything so he wouldn't have to go to Cheyenne.

"We need to see Nickersen; he warned us that the prosecutor may want your testimony. He also explained about grand juries. Don't you remember? They're secret and not public."

"I don't care! I told him I wouldn't. That they could make their case without me. I know he said they could make me but can't they leave me alone? Even when I'm out, Hardston and Munch are making my life hell." A booted foot kicked hard several times at the wall.

"Feel better now?" Heyes asked, his voice tinged with sarcasm.

"No," Kid responded sullenly.

"Kid, don't get upset until we talk to Nickersen and find out all the details. You may have options that we don't know about. Let's just see what he says. We can go by his office tomorrow, I'm sure he'll make time for you," Heyes tried to soothe.

Curry took the papers back from Heyes, folded them haphazardly and stuffed them back in the envelope. He fished his keys from his pants pocket as he walked to the dark red door leading to the foyer of their building.

"Where are you going? I thought we were going to get a steak dinner?" Heyes followed him.

"I'm not hungry. You go without me. I just wanna go home," Curry mumbled as he started up the stairs.

"Come on, Kid, you gotta eat." Heyes never thought he would have an argument with Kid to get him into a café.

* * *

The following afternoon, Heyes and Richard were comfortable in their respective chairs watching Kid Curry nervously pace the office floor.

"Kid sit down, willya. You're wearin' a hole in the carpet. Besides, it's annoying," Heyes ordered testily.

"Annoying? You do it often enough and I don't complain it's annoying." Kid stopped and glared at his partner.

"That's because I'm thinking when I pace. You're just pacing. Now sit down." Heyes' patience was starting to wear thin.

Whatever Kid was thinking and wasn't saying, set him on edge. Nickersen and Heyes exchanged a worried glance as Curry threw himself into a chair and gave them a look that dared them to say anything. The dark-haired detective noted that his partner's stride had reverted back to short shuffling steps as if he was unconsciously wearing leg irons. Heyes wanted more than anything to slap leg irons on the prison officials and let them rot behind bars. He was torn from being secretly relieved that Kid was served with the subpoena and alarmed by Kid's reaction.

"If I just don't go, what can they do to me?" Curry finally asked.

Nickersen answered gently, "You would be held in contempt of court for willfully disobeying a court order. The short answer is that you could be fined, jailed or both."

"What's the odds for jail and what is the term for contempt?" Heyes inquired while the Kid was processing the answer.

"It depends, but for a criminal matter, I would say the odds favor jail. There is no set term; the court can keep the contemnor in jail until the order is complied with. That means, Jed, you could go to jail until you agree to testify before the grand jury."

"Another life term," Curry heaved a deep sigh and hoisted himself to his feet to resume his restless pacing.

"Kid, I don't understand. I would think it's a good thing to have the prosecutor want you to testify. Don't you want Hardston and Munch to pay for how they ran the prison and what they did to you? You're going to carry those scars on your back for the rest of your life. You don't even have to see the bastards; they're not in court. Right, Richard?" Heyes looked over at the attorney for confirmation, his face a picture of honest confusion.

"That's correct. Do you remember when I explained grand juries to you back in February?" Nickersen avoided Heyes' glances. It would be much easier to explain if his client would just talk to his longtime partner and best friend. Whatever Jed thought Heyes would do if he discovered the whole truth, Nickersen was sure he was wrong.

"A grand jury decides if there is enough evidence to issue an indictment and charge the defendant with a crime. In this case, your testimony is necessary to proceed with certain charges. Ones that carry long prison terms. Otherwise the likely charges involve misconduct, abuse of authority, and misuse of funds, which have less harsh penalties."

Heyes stared thoughtfully at Nickersen. Surely Kid wasn't the only prisoner whipped, starved and worked nearly to death.

"Heyes is right; the only people in the room are the jurors, the prosecutor, the court reporter and the witness. There's no judge and the defense is not present. The testimony is secret and then sealed. I'll be right outside the courtroom and you are allowed to stop the proceedings and ask for me to come in to consult with you at any time."

"See, Kid, no one will ever know what you said."

"They will if it goes to trial." Kid stopped pacing, stood stiff-backed with his feet shoulder width apart and his look defied Nickersen and Heyes to tell him different.

"How about this, Jed? We can practice. It's common to prepare a witness that way. Heyes can pretend to be the jury, I'll be the prosecutor and we can go over your testimony with people you trust. Not testifying is not a viable option." Curry was not surprised Heyes was sitting forward and nodding his agreement with Nickersen's suggestion. Heyes liked rehearsals. It went with his desire to plan, especially if this plan would force Kid to talk to him.

"I'll think about it. Come on Heyes; we have to go to work tonight."

Heyes shrugged his shoulders at Richard, rose from his chair and exited Nickersen's office. Kid could hear him flirting with Estelle as he hung back for a minute.

"Richard, I know I hafta testify and that it's the right thing to do, but..." Curry's voice trailed off.

Nickersen walked over to close the door softly and stood holding the handle. "I know you don't want Heyes to know what it was like for you in there. I think you need to tell him but I can't force you to. You can't keep going the way you are. Instead of the two of you enjoying your freedom and your success, the both of you are still showing signs of the strain that you're living under."

"What if Heyes thinks less of me? What if he blames himself somehow, which is very likely? I can't do that to him and I can't make it without him. He's what kept me going, what's keeping me going."

Nickersen's hand tightened on the door handle. He wished he was the prosecuting attorney, judge and jury for Hardston and Munch. Curry might have received a pardon but the proud and troubled man was still serving a life term in his mind.

"I don't think any less of you. You had such an effect on O'Reilly that he quit his job. Heyes knows you best; a lifetime of friendship doesn't disappear over something you had no control over."

"Maybe not, but you and O'Reilly don't live and work with me. You don't depend upon me to watch your back. You haven't spent most of your life feeling responsible for me. Heyes has. I have some thinking to do."

"Hey Kid, aren't you the one who just said we have some work to do?" Heyes called as he gave the door a push, causing Nickersen to loosen his grip.

"I'm comin'," Kid opened the door. Turning towards Nickersen, he explained, "What he really means to say is that the poker tables are waiting. Some rich easterner's wayward son ran away to play cowboy in the West. We tracked him to a ranch just outside of Denver. We hear he fancies himself a gambler and spends every Friday and Saturday night in town, in one of the seedier districts. We're gonna check it out tonight."

"Good luck. Let me know what you decide, Jed." Nickersen walked the partners to the outside door.

The afternoon was fading into night as the offices and businesses were closing for the day. The partners buttoned their coats against the late winter chill as they headed off to the business district of a different kind. Curry was counting the minutes in his head to when Heyes couldn't hold his tongue anymore.

"So, what were you and Richard talking about?"

"Nothin'."

Heyes gave a frustrated sigh, which Kid ignored.

* * *

The second night and eighth saloon of the search proved to be the lucky winner.

The shabby saloon on the outskirts of Denver was enjoying a busy Saturday night. The ranch hands in town for the evening were spending their money freely on liquor, at the tables and on other pleasurable pursuits. The piano player was loud and surprisingly good. A young strawberry blonde in an emerald green dress glanced over at the poker table in the back corner while she waited for the bartender to fill her orders.

She had her eye on the blond with the soft honey-colored curls and the saddest blue eyes all evening. He wasn't much of a drinker, only two beers so far; maybe that's why he was the big winner at his table. The other players at the table had given her plenty of occasions to study the man. She wondered about him. He was polite, even charming; he called her ma'am until he asked her name. Men didn't usually use their manners on a saloon girl. He flirted a little so she thought maybe she'd have a chance with someone she wanted for a change, instead of whoever paid for her time first at the end of the night. But when she draped her arm over his shoulders, played with the longish curls at his collar, and leaned over to give him a view of her assets, she was startled to feel him stiffen. It didn't feel like distaste, more like something she couldn't identify but she wanted to find out, maybe help him relax and enjoy himself.

The bartender finished loading her tray and the strawberry blonde returned to the back table. She passed the drinks out and dodged the drunk next to the blond.

"You avoidin' me, Pansy?" The heavily bearded man who had pawed her every chance he could get reached out and pulled her close to him. He stunk like bad cigars, spilled whiskey, cattle and horse. Pansy involuntarily shuddered to think that he might not pass out before the evening was over.

"Why no, Bill. It's just busy tonight and this isn't my only table. There's a lotta drinks to keep comin'. You need another whiskey?" The big man seemed mollified and after a squeeze of her bottom released his hold with an order for a refill.

Pansy looked up and was mildly startled to see the sad-eyed cowboy watching her with a concerned questioning look. She answered his silent inquiry of her welfare with a rare real smile as she continued to make the rounds of her tables.

Kid glanced over to check on Heyes, who was playing at a table closer to the bar and to his left. A young cowboy, matching the picture the rich easterner sent, was playing at Heyes' table. He was doing well. Judging from the piles of money in front of the players, the boy was second only to Heyes. Things seemed to be remaining civil for the moment so Curry turned his attention back to his cards.

Heyes was skillfully working not only the cards but the players as well. Their job was only to locate the young man and notify his parents of their son's whereabouts. If the partners thought it was possible to persuade the runaway to contact home then they should do so, but not at the expense of possibly scaring him off to disappear again. Heyes was working on getting a feel for their target's thoughts and behavior. The silver-tongued detective kept a lively conversation going and concentrated on steering the cards and the talk to meeting his needs. He knew Kid was keeping an eye on him and on the room, alert for all possible trouble, not that he expected any but one never knew.

Several hours later, Heyes was confident that if he could get the young man alone another day to talk, the runaway would welcome the chance and the excuse to make contact with home. He would play another few hands than collect the Kid and head for home.

Curry was not having as smooth a time at his table and if his continued presence were not related to work he would have left hours ago. He didn't have the heart to tell Pansy she was wasting her time but hoped she would take the hint if he kept things proper. The problem was that as the evening wore on Bill got drunker, cruder and more physical. Pansy was avoiding Bill. Every time she had to serve him another drink, she leaned across Curry to do so, using the Kid as a shield. Curry knew she was doing it, and couldn't blame her.

Bill leered drunkenly as the strawberry blonde passed beside him on the way to her next table. He gave in to his baser instincts and snatched hold of her wrist, pulling her off her feet and into his lap. One arm held her in place while the other hand groped at her breasts.

"No, Bill, let me go, it's not time yet. Let me get you another whiskey, on me." Pansy squirmed, trying to free herself from the drunken cowboy's lap.

"Done drinkin', done playin', it's time." Bill squeezed harder, his fingers digging painfully into her chest. He staggered to his feet, dragging Pansy with him.

The Kid glanced around the table and noted all the other men looked uncomfortable, embarrassed, or bored and willing to sit by and let the girl be manhandled against her will.

"Excuse me, but I don't think the lady appreciates your attentions. Why don't you let her go," Curry said from his seat, keeping his tone even and reasonable.

"Mind your own business," Bill growled at Curry as his grip tightened on the girl's wrist and his other hand moved lower. Pansy had a defeated and resigned look as she ceased struggling.

"I'll mind my own business when you let the lady go." The Kid slowly stood, his posture still relaxed and non-threatening.

"She's no lady. She's a whore. If I wanna poke and have the money then the whore's gotta let me and act like she's enjoyin' it. It don't matter what whores want," the drunk explained to the Kid as if he were stupid. "Ain't that right, Pansy?" Bill leaned down, his breath sour, and nipped at her neck. His hand moved lower still, pressing her back against him.

Curry stiffened, his look darkened dangerously and his voice held a threatening note, "I'm telling you for the last time, let her go. I don't care how the lady makes her living, she still has a choice and no means no."

A sudden tension came over the immediate area as conversations halted and men's attention shifted to the back poker table. Heyes noted the change in the room and his stomach started to churn as he slowly turned to look. He threw in his hand, quickly scooped up his money and started to push his way through the crowd. At least it didn't look as if Kid was going to draw on the drunk, yet. There would be time to defuse the situation.

"What do you care? She's been rubbin' up to you all night. You ain't been payin' her no mind. Don't you know what to do with a whore? Iffn' you don't got the balls to give this whore a poke, don't stand in my way," Bill sneered at Curry.

Kid took two quick steps up to Bill, "Let her go, now, before I make you." Kid was struggling to control himself as his body started to tremble, his face became hot, and the words "whore, whores gotta, don't matter what whores want" swiftly circled around in his brain and pulled him to another time and place. A red fog descended upon him.

Heyes watched as the action seemed to move in slow motion. The drunk let go of the girl, pushing her to the side, and took a clumsy swing at the Kid, which he easily dodged. Curry came back with a quick vicious uppercut that knocked the man onto the table. A space cleared as the onlookers formed a ring to watch the fight. The downed man stumbled to his feet, his face a mask of drunken outraged fury. He managed to land a glancing blow to Curry's head.

Kid let loose with a flurry of blows to the stunned drunk's head and body. Bill fell to the floor, taking the Kid down with him as Curry tripped over his opponent's legs. He quickly rolled over and straddled the man on the floor, who at this point was trying to cover his face with his arms for protection. Curry kept blindly punching the hapless drunk, all semblance of control lost.

"Stop! Enough! Kid, stop, you're going to kill him! Enough, already!" Heyes yelled as he forcibly pushed his way through the inner circle of spectators. He tried to grab his partner's arms to physically stop the assault.

"Do you hear me? Stop!" Curry was in a world of his own; he didn't respond to Heyes' voice. Heyes wasn't even sure if the Kid could hear him.

Heyes spread his arms wide, grabbed the Kid in a bear hug from behind and held on with all his strength, all the while trying to break through Curry's wall of rage with words. Kid twisted suddenly in the restraining hold, managed to free an arm and blindly struck out with his right fist, striking Heyes in the cheek. Heyes rocked back and struggled to regain his advantage.

"Somebody...help me...pull him off," Heyes managed to get out between breaths.

Strong arms attached to two middle-aged sober men wearing shiny stars with the words "Denver Sheriff's Office" obliged. A third star-wearing man helped Heyes up while a fourth lawman crouched next to the unconscious, bloody man lying on the floor.

The lawmen had Kid lying face down on the floor while they cuffed his hands behind his back, none too gently. Heyes tried to get his breathing under control while staring first at the Kid, whose shoulders were heaving in distress as he struggled under the deputies' hold and secondly at the beaten man, trying to determine if he was still breathing.

"Show's over folks. Give us some room to get these two where they're going. Henry, get some of the more sober men here to help get the victim to the nearest doctor. Sam and Joe, get the other one over to the jail. We'll talk to him once he sobers up. I'll stay and interview the witnesses." The lawman next to Heyes started to take control of the situation now that the immediate problem was resolved.

"He's not drunk," Heyes offered automatically then wanted to kick himself since he wasn't sure if was better if Kid had been drunk. He didn't know how he was going to explain the viciousness of the attack without alcohol being an excuse.

"You with him?" The leader asked.

"Yes, I'm his partner," Heyes answered.

The deputy in charge refocused his eyes from the bloody face of the beaten man to Heyes. "I'll interview you first. Then I advise you to go home and get your partner a lawyer first thing in the morning."

"Interview me at the jail. I have to go with him," Heyes stated and went to follow the two deputies that were manhandling the still-struggling Kid, who hadn't said a word, out the door.

Heyes' arm was grabbed and he stopped. "I'll interview you here and now. We won't let you see him tonight anyway. He needs time to cool off and you both better hope that other fella keeps breathing."

Heyes sank into a nearby vacant chair, stared at the smeared blood on the dirty floorboards and realized how true the deputy's words were. He ran his hands through his hair then pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes. Heyes felt a great weariness and a sense of dread seep into his being. If they hadn't pulled Kid off in time and the man died, nothing would save Kid from the gallows and that was a thought Heyes could not contemplate.

* * *

Kid Curry opened his eyes, wished the pounding in his head would stop and inhaled sharply. Iron bars and the unmistakable smell of a jail registered in his brain. His eyes closed and opened slowly again. Nothing had changed. He sat up gingerly, looked around and realized this was not one of his vivid nightmares. He really was behind bars. Kid leaned his head against the cell wall as he tried to make sense of his situation. He had no idea of how, when or why he was in a jail cell. He reassured himself that he wasn't in prison by the lack of the black and white prison clothing and the absence of heavy leg irons. Pain broke through the mental confusion and he looked down at his hands. They were swollen, the knuckles on his right hand were split and both were covered with dried blood.

"What have I done?" he whispered to himself.

"Heyes? Heyes, are you here? Anybody here?" Curry called out into the dimly lit cell block.

"Shut up! We're trying to sleep here. You woke us up once already when they brought you in. Settle down and shut up, now!" an annoyed voice yelled back.

Kid pulled himself to his feet, staggered to the front of the cell and grabbed hold of the bars. He counted twelve cells across from him and assumed there were twelve on his side of the corridor. He appeared to be in the third cell on the right from the heavy wood door with a small barred window that was letting in what little light that was in the corridor. The voice came from his left. He squinted in the dimness trying to find someone to answer his questions. His eyes rested on an older man looking at him sympathetically.

"I guess you slept it off, young fella." The prisoner across the way sat up on his bunk and chuckled, "You gave those boys quite a time to get you in there and get the cuffs off. You finally hit your head on the wall and knocked yourself out. It was entertaining while it lasted, although, I imagine with the hangover and the bump, you must have a hellava headache."

Curry felt the back of his head where the pain was greatest and discovered the old man was right. There was a tender lump there.

"I wasn't drunk. I don't remember what happened but I know I wasn't drunk," he despondently answered.

"Shut up, I told you to shut up!" the voice from the left yelled out once more.

The occupant in the opposite cell lay back down and turned towards the wall, ending the conversation, leaving Curry still in a state of confusion.

Kid returned to his own hard bunk and sat with his elbows on his knees, his pounding head in his throbbing hands. He tried to concentrate on his last memories. His eyes widened as he recalled the beginning of the trouble with the crude drunk. _Try as he might, he could not remember anything after telling - Bill, was it? - to let the girl go. What happened? What did I do?_ Looking at his hands, he realized he must have gotten into a fight. _How had it ended? Did I hurt the drunk? Or worse yet, kill him? Where was Heyes? Did I hurt him too?_

* * *

"Thanks for coming with me, Richard. I'm sorry to disturb your Sunday morning but Kid's gonna need your help," Heyes apologized for the umpteenth time since arriving at the Nickersen's early Sunday morning. He was grateful that Nickersen had listened to his story and had unhesitatingly gone to get dressed while Audrey plied him with coffee.

Heyes and Nickersen hurried up the steps and into the sheriff's office and central jail. They quickly located who they needed to talk to and started to assess the situation. Heyes noted that the lawman was surprisingly cooperative, probably as a favor to Nickersen, whom he knew and respected. They were going over the arrest report, witness statements and preliminary charges. Heyes sighed with relief at the words assault and battery and the absence of manslaughter or murder.

He couldn't concentrate any longer as his need to see his partner became overwhelming. It had only been five months since Kid's release and he couldn't fathom how Kid was coping with being behind bars again. Heyes abruptly stood up and asked, "Can we see him?"

"Yeah, I'll take you to him." The Sherriff crossed to the safe along the wall, squatted down and started to turn the dial. He stopped, glanced over his shoulder and smiled at Heyes, who was watching with interest.

The sheriff snorted and questioned half in jest, "You aint thinkin' about breaking your partner out of jail are you, Heyes?"

"No, we don't do that sort of thing anymore," Heyes stated firmly and fervently hoped it wouldn't come down to that.

"Glad to hear it. I gotta tell you, Heyes, you boys have done good. You've been getting a reputation you can be proud of on the right side of the law. It's a real shame this happened. The Kid's been known to have a temper but not for this kind of violence. I'm surprised; you'd think after the pardon he'd be real anxious to avoid trouble. What happened?" The sheriff led the attorney and his prisoner's partner to the cells.

Heyes kept his thoughts to himself. _Prison happened, that's what. It left him like a bottle of nitro ready to blow. That drunk just lit the fuse._

The sheriff unlocked the cell block door and spoke quietly, "He doesn't remember what happened, at least that's what he says. From the look in his eyes, when I told him, I believe him. He says he wasn't drunk, and the witness statements agree. That was a vicious attack; maybe the fella deserved a punch, but the Kid's real lucky my deputies arrived when they did to help you pull him off, Heyes. Nickersen, you better have some fancy legal magic in your bag to keep your client out of prison. He's in the third cell on the right. You have twenty minutes."

Kid Curry was pacing the small jail cell, thinking how, at almost every turn in his life, he went in the wrong direction. He reached the wall, slammed his palm against it, winced in pain, and cursing turned around. Blue eyes met brown.

Heyes pondered his partner's pacing. This was a habit of the new Kid Curry and he didn't like it. Heyes paced, Kid lazed. The old Kid Curry would lie on the bunk with his hat over his eyes and wait patiently for Heyes to come up with a plan. That was the way things were supposed to be and if Nickersen could work another legal miracle that was the way it was going to be again. Heyes had reached the end of his patience.

"Kid?"

"Heyes, am I glad to see you! How's the fella I beat up?"

"Still breathin' as far as I know."

Curry came up to the bars and reached through them to lightly touch the bruise on his best friend's cheek. "I hit you too? I'm sorry Heyes. I'm sorry, for everything." He dropped his eyes to the floor. "Thanks for comin', Richard. So, what happens now?"

Heyes and Nickersen exchanged a worried look. Neither was sure how the Kid would react to what needed to be said. Heyes cleared his throat and tried to think of a way to soften the message.

Nickersen broke the silence, "You have to remain in jail until I get everything straightened out. The sheriff is going over to the doctor's clinic this afternoon, where the man you had the altercation with is staying. He'll have him sign the complaint so that formal charges can be brought. If the complaint is signed, you remain in jail until the court hearing for the indictment. The judge will decide then if bail will be granted or if you will remain in custody until the trial. Jed, I must warn you that bail isn't likely given your history of eluding capture for years and past successful escapes from custody."

Kid interrupted fearfully, "What happens if I'm convicted?"

Heyes visibly cringed.

"For an assault and battery charge, you're looking at a prison term of one to five years given your extensive record of convictions for multiple counts of armed robbery, assault with a deadly weapon, simple assault, battery, resisting arrest, jailbreaks, impersonating a law officer, and various other crimes." Nickersen stated reluctantly.

"No!" forcibly erupted past clenched jaws and thin lips. Curry's hands tightened on the bars until his split knuckles turned white beneath the dried blood. "No, I can't go back there. No, I won't." he whispered as he banged his forehead against the bars.

"Kid, we're not saying that's gonna happen, only that it could happen," Heyes tried to explain.

"Jed, listen to me." Nickersen waited until he had the Kid's full attention. "I'm going over to the clinic as soon as I finish talking to you, before the sheriff gets there. The witness statements indicate that William Barrow threw the first punch. He missed, but it is still assault. Assault, by definition, is a threatened or attempted physical attack against another by a person who appears to have the ability to cause bodily harm. William Barrow, thereby, committed assault; you acted in self-defense. He then committed battery against your person when his punch connected with your face. It doesn't matter, in the eyes of the law, who won the fight. You committed assault and battery by continuing to throw punches that connected after Mr. Barrow had ceased to be a threat. "

"You see, Kid, Nickersen is going to tell that fella that you will file a complaint of assault and battery against him if he signs a complaint against you. He can keep you company in jail. We're hoping that will make him think twice about signing." Heyes was putting all the hopeful confidence in his voice that he could muster. "You'll be outa here in no time."

"Of course, as an extra added incentive to be cooperative, you are going to offer to make full restitution, through my office, for any lost wages and medical bills he incurs as a result of the unfortunate misunderstanding," Nickersen amended.

Kid slid his eyes between the men on the other side of the bars. He nodded his head and muttered, "Thank you, I'll keep my fingers crossed."

Nickersen smiled encouragingly at Curry before walking up the short hall and banged on the door to be let out. Heyes wasn't moving until the law dragged him out.

Curry watched him leave then turned and looked Heyes straight in the face. "How bad did I hurt the man?"

"You pummeled his face pretty good. From what the sheriff said, he has a mild concussion, broken nose, only lookin' out of one of two black eyes, plenty of cuts, split lips and loose teeth. The rest of him is bruised and sore but no broken bones. He's, no, you're real lucky, he seemed at lot worse than he really is. Kid, I've never seen you lose control like that, not even when you were sixteen and your temper was at your worst. You didn't even hear me. You didn't even know I was there. You weren't gonna stop."

Kid turned from the bars and resumed his pacing. He couldn't look at Heyes. He didn't want to see the hurt, confusion, worry and fatigue that Heyes was unsuccessfully concealing and know he was the cause.

"He's gonna sign the complaint. I would if I were him. After all, everyone knows Kid Curry is a violent, dangerous, irredeemable criminal," Curry predicted as he started to pace faster.

"I can't go back to prison! I won't go back to prison! I won't!" Kid yelled at the wall while he grabbed the pillow off the cot and threw it across the small cell.

"You're not going to have to. Nickersen will talk to Barrow. Things will work out. You'll see. Calm down," Heyes went into his soothing mode, using the tone that worked to defuse potentially explosive situations during their previous jobs. It worked then; it should work with Curry now.

"No, they won't. Not for me. I'll run. I should have done it the first time. I thought about it but didn't do it. Shot in the back escaping is a better end. I am not going back to prison. I'm not. I'm not! I'm better off dead!"

"Kid! Look at me!" Curry's eyes flicked to the bars. Heyes had his face pressed right up against them. When he had Kid's attention, Heyes continued evenly, calmly, "No one is going to prison. No one is going to get shot. Give Nickersen a chance. Barrow will take the money; he won't want to take the chance of going to jail and he's probably not the type to want everyone to know he got beaten up over a saloon girl, which will happen if he presses charges. Trust me."

Kid Curry did trust Hannibal Heyes; Heyes had never failed him. Kid plunked himself down on the bunk and slouched against the wall as he listened to Heyes' soothing voice talk about everything and nothing; it didn't matter, he just listened and trusted Heyes was right. It would work out.

* * *

It was late Sunday afternoon by the time Hannibal Heyes locked the apartment door behind him. Both partners were disheveled, tired, tense and quiet. They had hardly exchanged two words since they had left the Denver Jail after Nickersen was successful in persuading William Barrow to drop all charges.

"Go get cleaned up. Take a bath. I'll have the coffee on and fix us some sandwiches by the time you're finished. I'll take a look and maybe bandage your hand when you get out," Heyes directed Kid as he tossed his hat on the table.

The sandwiches were ready and Heyes sat in the kitchen sipping his coffee, brooding. _They had dodged the bullet this time but what if I hadn't been there; what would have happened then. Kid needed to see that things couldn't continue this way. Where was Kid anyway? I heard him leave the bathroom and go into his room. It doesn't take that long to get dressed._

Heyes put his coffee down and went in search of his roommate.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"Isn't it obvious? I'm packing."

"Sarcasm doesn't become you, Kid. Why, where are you going?"

"This isn't working. I'm leaving. I damn near killed a man with my bare hands last night. I punched my best friend when he was trying to help. I don't remember any of it. I'm a danger to you, to the business, to everything you've worked at for the last two years. Have Richard draw up whatever papers are necessary for the business to be solely yours. He still has my power of attorney; he can sign them too."

"No, you're not running away. You're staying right here and we're going to talk."

"There's nothin' to talk about."

Heyes bristled and his eyes flashed. He drew himself up to his full height and stood hands on his hips, blocking the bedroom doorway. "That's it! I'm done! There's plenty to talk about! You're going to tell me what's eating at you from the inside. You're going to tell me why you don't sleep most nights. You're going to tell me how come you have permanent purple rings around those blue eyes. You're going to talk about why you've been avoiding women. I want to know why you've been so reckless and don't tell me it's 'cos you haven't been thinkin'. You've been thinkin' all right, too much! I want to know how come you lost control in a situation that you've been in hundreds of times and could keep your cool. I want to know why testifying before a grand jury has you in a near panic. I want to know how come every time you're touched you flinch. You've gotten better at hiding it but you still do it. Oh, there's plenty to talk about and you're going to talk!"

Curry stood there and let Heyes rage at him. He kept his face expressionless, picked up the saddlebags from the bed and his hat from the bureau and walked up to Heyes.

"I don't know where I'm going but I'll keep in touch. Bye, Heyes. Good luck." Kid tried to shoulder his way past his angry partner.

Heyes stood firm. He grabbed the saddlebags out of the Kid's hands and flung them across the room.

"I've been patient. I've been understanding. I've tried to be supportive, to let you settle in and recover at your own pace. No more! I agree, that wasn't working, so we're gonna do it my way now. You are not leaving our apartment like this. I'll flatten you if I have to and you no longer weigh more than me so don't be too sure I won't."

Curry's eyes narrowed and stared hard at Heyes, trying to gauge his determination.

"Don't give me that gunfighter's stare. It doesn't work with me. Kid, this is too important to let it end this way. You walk out this door and you'll give up on life. You're crazy to think I'll let you go without a fight. We've always been able to tell each other anything. Why can't you now? Kid, why?" his voice rose plaintively as he tried to get through to his cousin.

Kid spun on his heel and retreated to the other side of the room. He looked out the back window and his shoulders drooped. Heyes relaxed a little but stayed firmly in the doorway.

"If I talk to you, you gotta promise me one thing, okay. I mean it, Heyes, it's important to me. You gotta give me your word."

"I promise I'll promise after I hear what you want me to promise. After all Kid, you can't expect me to give you my word without hearing the promise."

Curry inhaled and exhaled slowly with his eyes closed. After a few moments of quiet controlled breathing he half turned towards Heyes, who was still standing in the doorway.

"Heyes, I haven't told you much because in the past you tend to think everything bad that happens is your fault. You forget that I have a mind of my own and just because I let you be the leader most times, don't mean that I can't think for myself. I choose to follow you and I can choose to go my own way. You gotta promise me that you won't blame yourself for anything that I tell you now. I chose to turn myself in and nothing you could have done or said would have changed my mind. God knows, Lom tried. You give me your word?"

"But if I hadn't gotten shot in Impasse Mountain, if I had been a little faster..."

"If it didn't happen at Impasse, some other challenge in some other small town would've happened. Me being with you was just askin' for trouble. It was only a matter of time and the Governor wasn't gonna give the "Fastest Gun in the West" amnesty. A gunslinger's life expectancy is limited; I am…was on borrowed time and he was waiting to see if you would outlive me. If you were lucky enough to do that, then, maybe, he'd sign the papers. Meanwhile, we stopped being a nuisance to his bank and railroad buddies."

"Kid, you don't know that..."

"Yeah, I do, but Heyes, you're missin' the point. I've been making choices all my life and you take the blame when I choose wrong. Only this time, I made the right choice even if it don't seem that way to you. You have to promise me that, about this, you won't feel responsible. Do you hear me? Nothing would have changed my mind. Your silver tongue would have turned to tin. Give me your word; you won't take my problems on your back."

"Okay, Kid, I'll play by your rules. You have my word."

"Come and sit down then. It might take a while."

Heyes sat in the lone chair and crossed one booted foot over the other, settling in for the long-awaited talk. He made a silent promise to himself to try to keep his comments to the minimum and only push Kid when it was absolutely necessary.

Kid stayed standing by the window so he could glance out. His eyes strayed around the room, taking in all the little details that Heyes had taken the time to arrange for his homecoming. He once again was reminded how their shared history forged a bond that was not easily broken. Kid knew Heyes deserved an explanation for his behavior. He would have to tell Heyes as much as he could, not everything, but most everything, enough to satisfy Heyes' need to know and to help.

"When you got me out, I was so sick and so tired that all I could do was sleep. Now, I can't remember when I slept a whole night through. I have these dreams, nightmares really, and they're so real. I sometimes think I'm goin' insane." Curry shook his head and unconsciously bit his bottom lip. He took a few deep breaths and finally faced Heyes.

"It's like I'm reliving prison every night. I have all this anger inside. I want to hurt someone...make them hurt like I hurt. I couldn't fight back in prison and if I did, all they did was hurt me more. The trouble is that's it building up inside and I can't control myself. What happened last night and with the reporter, I don't remember anything but the need to make someone pay." Kid hung his head and when he raised it saw Heyes nodding in understanding.

"It was hell from the very first day when they locked the shackles on in the courtroom. You think you know what to expect; after all, I've been in jail enough times. A cell is a cell, right? But you have no idea; I don't think even you, with your vivid imagination, could think up all the things that are done there."

"Like what? Tell me then." Heyes clamped his mouth shut when he realized he didn't even keep his promise to himself for more than three minutes. He gave an apologetic look at Kid, who was standing there with a knowing look fading into expressionless, like he was steeling himself to continue.

"The very first thing they do is rob you of your identity. They strip you of your name, they strip you of your clothes, they shave your head and make you learn a list of rules that take away any control of your life."

Heyes nodded his head; O'Reilly had explained this part. He wanted to move his partner along in his narration but wisely held his tongue. Curry withdrew his .45 from his holster, balanced it in his hand then twirled it back into the holster. He rested his right hand on the butt out of habit.

"I was a target just like on the outside. Everyone, the warden, the guards, even some of the other prisoners had some idea of what I was supposed to be like. They had to prove themselves better than the big-name gunfighter. They couldn't outdraw me so I had to follow every rule perfectly, work harder, faster, and be meek and mild. I was the only inmate in the entire prison that had two guards assigned just to me whenever I was out of my cell - Mostly Riggs, who enjoyed making me dance his jig, and O'Reilly, who was always fair. I swear, Heyes, I tried my hardest not to react to the snide comments, prods and hits with the lash and to think how you would tell me to act, to keep my mind on the long-term goal, survival. I even let them almost drown me without too much of a fight."

"Drown you? What are you talking about, how could they drown you?" Heyes interrupted, his anger and voice rising.

Curry glanced at his dark-haired cousin and his lips twitched upwards in a small smile in spite of himself. "Well, I accidentally swung Riggs into a cart of unemptied piss-pots, which got him real mad. The warden let him drag this shower chair out of the basement and use it on me. It looked like a miniature water tower over a big wooden chair and ..."

The shadows lengthened in the room and Heyes lit the lamps. The subject was dark enough without the room contributing to the gloom. Kid, in fits and starts, was finally able to talk about the sanitation duty, the broom factory and how the loneliness, anger and loss of hope drove him to the brink of despair. Curry paced and Heyes ground his teeth. Kid stood with his back pressed into a corner of the room, staring at his boots when he described the fiery sting of the cat-o-nine-tails and the cutting agony of the bullwhip. How he still sometimes felt the lash was coming when it was only someone's innocuous touch. He unconsciously paced four paces by two paces when he talked about the mixture of relief and dread of being sentenced to the deprivation of the solitary dark cells. Curry threw himself on the bed, leaned back and stared at the ceiling when he recounted the heat, thirst and cramping of the hot box. He finished with the slow starvation and creeping, overwhelming fatigue that filled his time between punishments. The sounds of everyday activity drifted up from the street, incongruous with the activities just revealed. Kid Curry lay on the bed, his chest heaving as if he'd just run a mile and eyes shut tight, remembering.

Heyes closed his eyes for moment, fighting back the anger he felt upon hearing about the Kid's ordeal. Taking a deep breath, he exhaled slowly and looked intently at his partner. "Kid, you're not going crazy. You can't keep all that inside. No wonder you feel like you want to hurt someone. They hurt you. They hurt you a great deal but you survived. You can't let them to continue to hurt you by reliving it." Heyes came and sat on the edge of the bed, careful to keep a safe distance between them. "If you wake up in the middle of the night and need to talk, wake me up. I'm here. I wake you up to talk. I do my best thinking in the middle of the night; we'll work this out together and maybe the nightmares will be less real. Unless we come to terms with what happened to you there's no moving forward. We're stuck and that's not us; no matter what, we keep moving, together, Kid, together."

Through it all Heyes kept a tight control on his growing ire and disbelief of the inhumane treatment his best friend had endured. He consciously kept his fists from clenching but couldn't control the fiery glint of fury in his dark eyes. He was astute enough to realize Kid was still holding things in; the explanations for some incidents were sketchy or purposefully vague. He was sure there was still worse to be told but refrained from probing further as he didn't think either one of them was able to go on. He tried hard to shake off the feelings of guilt that were settling on his shoulders, knowing that Curry would detect them and if he did, Kid wouldn't say another word. He couldn't chance it now that he finally had his partner talking; their future depended upon healing the Kid and Heyes had big plans for a shared future. Heyes vowed that if Curry testifying before a grand jury was going to put Hardston and Munch in prison then he would do all he could to convince Kid that he should and could appear on March 30th in Cheyenne. That, if nothing else, would make Heyes feel better.


	23. Chapter 23

**Chapter Twenty-Three**

 _ **Late March 1885**_

Kid looked around as he stood in the doorway of their conference room. He didn't want to be there. He had resigned himself to the necessity of practicing his grand jury testimony. Legally, he was not given a choice; he would have to testify. He had never spoken about the ultimate degradation he had experienced in prison and didn't know if he had the strength to make himself do so. He barely remembered O'Reilly speaking to Mr. Grey at his pardon interview. He wanted Hardston and Munch to be held accountable for the inhumane treatment of the prisoners and to be prevented from ruining other men in the future, but what was vengeance or justice going to cost him?

Kid Curry had already had a large part of who he was taken from him in prison. He needed Heyes' companionship, faith in his worthiness and reliance on his remaining abilities to give his existence meaning. Without Heyes, he feared he would become an empty shell, a shadow of a man drifting aimlessly from place to place until he faded from life. He worried once his partner heard the whole unvarnished truth that Heyes would never look at him the same; he would become a creature to be pitied, taken care of but never again would he be a partner.

If the case went to trial and Kid was called to testify in open court, he also knew it could cost him his life. When word got around of his complete domination and seemingly willing acts of a "whore", he would no longer be seen as a man. He didn't even see himself as man anymore. Every gunfighter who had thought twice about challenging him for the title of "The Fastest Gun in the West", a title he didn't actively seek, would no longer hesitate. And sooner or later he would be slower due to fatigue, illness, distractions, or skill; it didn't matter, the outcome would be the same, he would be dead.

Kid Curry watched Hannibal Heyes busily arranging the conference room in their office to resemble Heyes' idea of a grand jury room. Heyes, the planner, was finally feeling like he was going to get some satisfaction.

"Is this chair okay for you here, Kid?" Heyes asked as he placed the most comfortable chair they had at the front of the room. He had already set up his seat along the wall as the "jury" and designated a chair at the table for Nickersen as the "prosecutor". A filled water pitcher, a bottle of whiskey and three glasses were set on the table.

"Yeah, wherever you want, Heyes. It doesn't matter." Heyes looked up and read the reluctance and resignation in his partner's face. He offered an encouraging smile. "You can do it. It won't be easy but you'll feel better afterwards. You've already made a lot of progress with that talk we had. It's better to practice now than have to answer the questions for the first time with strangers. Like we said..."

Kid waved his hand for him to stop. "I know all that. That's why I agreed to go through with this." He took a step back out the doorway. "I'm gonna take a walk around the block. If Nickersen arrives, tell him I'll be right back." Before Heyes could respond, he disappeared from view.

* * *

Nickersen opened his portfolio on the conference room table and extracted his notes, a pad and several sharpened pencils. He tried to ignore the waves of impatience emanating from Hannibal Heyes, who was standing behind him, trying to read the notes over his shoulder.

"You're the jury. You're not supposed to know anything beforehand. I know you now know most of what will be said but your reaction as further information is revealed can give us some insight on how to tailor Jed's testimony," Richard patiently explained as he gently nudged Heyes away from his shoulder.

Nickersen turned around and leaned against the table with his arms folded in front of his chest. His face was somber and serious. Heyes backed up two steps and focused all his attention on the attorney. "Heyes, in fact, your reaction to what I am going to have to get Jed to say is more important to him than any jury."

Heyes nodded slowly, his thoughts sifting through the last few months of conversations and observations. "It's bad, isn't it? What can be so bad that he couldn't tell me?" A thought out of their darkest nightmares began to form deep in his mind, just beyond conscious awareness.

"Yes, it's bad. You can wipe that hurt look off your face because he didn't tell me either, O'Reilly did. So, do you think you can sit quietly and listen? I'm not at all certain if we'll even get through the practice testimony today." Nickersen's demeanor gave every indication that what was going to be discussed was serious, uncertain and likely to be emotionally painful.

Heyes' enthusiasm for the grand jury rehearsal and a cautious anticipation of long-awaited answers waned and was replaced by a deepening dread of something dark and better off unknown being revealed. "I'll do my best to let Kid do all the talkin' and I'll just listen."

"That will be a switch. Hello, Richard. You finally get him to promise to shut up and listen to me just when I'd rather stay quiet," Kid's voice held just a hint of humor as he materialized in the doorway.

Nickersen and Heyes glanced quickly at each other. The question of just how much Kid had overheard passed quickly through each man's mind as neither had heard Curry's approach. Nickersen cleared his throat, hung his suit jacket over the back of his chair then steadily regarded his client. "Well, let's take advantage of that promise anyway and get started."

Heyes watched his partner sit in the comfortable wood and leather chair at the front of the room. An unbidden vision of Kid sitting in a Santa Marta jail cell awaiting his likely execution by firing squad flashed in front of his eyes. Heyes blinked and shook his head slightly. He sat quietly along the wall and the stage was set.

Richard Nickersen remained standing and spoke to his client conversationally, "I don't have definite knowledge on how the prosecutor is going to build his case, although I do have some idea of what he will try to accomplish. In addition, the order of witnesses will have a bearing on the line of questioning, and the depth of detail he will want the jury to hear. One problem the prosecution has with you as a witness is credibility."

"Now hold on, Kid is a man of his word. Even the dime novels get that part right," Heyes interrupted, coming to his partner's defense.

Kid flashed a sad smile at his biggest supporter. "It's all right, most people expect an ex-con outlaw to lie and we ain't exactly been known to be honest citizens."

Nickersen tilted his head and thought for a second. "Well, actually, it's Heyes that has the reputation as a creative and facile liar. You, Jed, are a paradox in the popular opinion. You're usually portrayed as a dangerous gunman and a thief, but a chivalrous, honorable one." The lawyer chuckled to himself.

"Hey, now wait a minute, he's honorable and I'm a liar? I'm a smooth-talking, charming genius. What have you been reading?" Heyes was genuinely affronted.

Nickersen shook his head at Heyes and laughed out loud; even Kid joined in. The laughter died down and the attorney turned serious. "We know several current and former prison personnel are cooperating with the Justice Department and will support your testimony. That will help with building credibility. The prosecutor most likely will take the questioning slow from your arrival up to your release. He will want to establish a pattern of unwarranted persecution and a connection between Munch's actions and Hardston's knowledge and approval in order to show complicity as well as portray you in a sympathetic light. Unfortunately for you, I think it's going to be a long, tedious and uncomfortable time in the chair. Are you ready to begin?"

Kid exchanged a long look with the man who treated him like a brother and as he broke eye contact, wondered if Heyes would still feel that way at the end of the afternoon. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. His face relaxed into a familiar mask of non-expression and the blue eyes became unreadable. Heyes turned slightly in his chair in order to watch his best friend be forced to talk about a period in his life when he could not help him. The fleeting flash of fear in Kid's eyes made Heyes' heart ache before Curry had even said a word.

The time dragged on as Nickersen asked question after question, painfully drawing the details out of the practicing witness. He had to remind Jed to speak so Heyes could hear him. Several times he stopped to jot down a notation on his pad. Heyes and Richard worked on Kid's wording and delivery of key points. They had covered the period from his incarceration in early August 1883 to November 1883 when Richard stopped and suggested they take a short break. Heyes seconded the suggestion as he thought Kid appeared to have been put through a wringer and they still had a year of prison time to go.

Curry left his chair and poured himself a glass of water, which he downed in one long gulp. He started to pace in the front of the room while Heyes left to make a pot of coffee.

Nickersen blocked his route and spoke quickly and quietly, "You okay?"

"Yeah, for now."

"I'm sorry, Jed, I know what's coming is going to be almost as bad as the actual deeds. I am not trying to be cruel but I'm pretty sure the prosecutor will want more than euphemisms. What I think is going to happen is that he will use your testimony and your character - you didn't break in prison when you were under their total control so the defense will have to consider that you will testify in court - to force a plea to felony, class H or E assault and battery, which carry substantial prison terms, instead of rape and conspiracy to commit rape, in addition to the misconduct and fiscal fraud charges. I'll explain more fully later but I wanted to give you an idea of what to expect before Heyes comes back. If you need me to stop, let me know." Nickersen tried to meet Jed's eyes but Curry's gaze remained fixed on the floor. They both startled slightly when approaching footsteps sounded loudly in the silence.

Heyes set the coffee pot on the table and looked from one blond man to the other. Neither would meet his eyes and he noticed the heightened tension. Heyes remembered the Thanksgiving of 1883 and his trip to the Wyoming Territorial Prison. Kid was in solitary. He also remembered the look of utter desolation and despair in his partner when he finally did get to visit in early December 1883. Heyes' chest started to feel tight and he put the cup of coffee he had poured himself down without taking a sip, before resuming his place against the wall.

Nickersen glanced at his notes then continued in his role of prosecutor, addressing the witness, "On Friday, November 20, 1883 the physician examined you and found you fit for general prison duties. The next notation in your prison record concerns the events that took place on Sunday, November 22, 1883. Please describe that day for us, Mr. Curry."

Kid took a deep calming breath. He spoke unemotionally, staring at a smudge on the opposite wall, "It started as the normal prison routine for a Sunday, later wake-up bell then line up for breakfast and since I hadn't been assigned back to cell sanitation yet, I was even allowed to attend service." Curry squared his shoulders and sat up straighter. "This was a shower day for the North Wing. Usually the third tier goes last but this Sunday we were taken to the shower room first. I was pulled out of line and... and..." He pushed back further into the chair. "...and two guards pulled me in front of the storage room. All the inmates were lined up when Captain Munch walked in. He started to... to talk. He said...he called..." Curry abruptly stopped and sat still in the seat.

Heyes was sitting forward in the chair, all his attention focused on his partner's face. Nickersen waited a few minutes until he was sure his client had stopped talking. The silence stretched awkwardly. "Go on," Nickersen prompted, not unkindly.

The Kid focused on Richard's face. Richard recognized a plea for compassion in the blue eyes and he wished he could pack up his portfolio and let his client, now his friend, keep his secrets but Richard's professional duty took precedence. Nickersen kept his voice even and he imparted a slight coaxing tone to it, "You were telling us what Captain Munch said or did that Sunday. Please continue."

Curry's eyes darted in Heyes' direction before dropping to the floor. His shoulders rounded and he slumped in the chair, his right hand tightening on the armrest. Kid's mouth opened and moved but no words could be heard. Curry tried again, "He, Captain Munch, he said that the men could use a reward. He said... he said that I had blond hair...he said that I had a reputation as a ladies' man... he...he said I had to... had to be," Kid was whispering by now. Heyes and Richard could barely hear him. Nickersen didn't have the heart to tell him to speak up. It was enough that he was just speaking.

Heyes' eyes darkened as he pulled his chair closer to his partner's. He leaned close in to Curry and with a deep low voice, heavy with dread, asked, "Captain Munch said you had to be what?"

Kid squeezed his eyes shut, kept his head bowed and dragged the words from a place deep within where he kept his self-loathing and shame hidden from light. He whispered with a shuddered breath, "A whore." The words echoed like they were being shouted from every mountaintop in his head a whore, a whore, a whore. Kid Curry abruptly stood, the chair slamming into the wall, his eyes still closed tight and started to shake his head, blond curls flinging to and fro. Words that could be clearly heard came tumbling out, "No. No, I can't. I'm sorry but I can't."

"Richard, give us a few moments alone," Heyes slowly ordered as he kept his eyes on his best friend. Nickersen quietly left the room to wait in the main office and hoped whatever bond the two men shared would be strong enough to get them both through the aftermath of Kid Curry's fateful decision as the repercussions came to a head.

Hannibal Heyes fought to control his emotions. He wiped his suddenly sweaty palms on his trousers. The dark fear, which men who had lived under the threat of prison harbored, burst forth from his unconscious. He now knew what Kid had been loath to acknowledge. He cursed himself for not putting the pieces of the puzzle together sooner; the clues had been there all these months for him to see, like the numbers to the combination of a safe. But he had failed to put them in the right order to unlock Kid's thoughts and discover the real reason for his behavior, delving no deeper than the scars on Kid's back. Curry's uncharacteristic celibacy and avoidance of women, his flinching when touched that Heyes attributed to having been whipped and beaten, the nightmares where he yelled "don't touch me, no you can't," the extreme reaction to the drunk and the saloon girl and the self-destructive behavior disguised as recklessness all flashed through Heyes' mind. He berated himself. _Some detective, some genius, I shoulda known. Enough lawmen and bounty hunters taunted us, especially the Kid, with what would happen in prison and dammit they were right!_

Heyes reached out, gently wrapped his long fingers around his partner's wrist and gave a slight pull towards him. "Come sit at the table. I think we could both use a drink."

Kid opened his eyes and stared at the hand on his wrist before lifting his gaze to his partner's face. Stormy, shadowed blue met almost-black brown. Heyes tugged once more then let go. Curry reluctantly sat in Nickersen's vacated chair. Heyes poured two whiskeys, spilling a few drops on the table before he could stop his hand from shaking with repressed anger. He placed one before the Kid and shot his back quickly. Kid slowly sipped at his and grimaced as his stomach started to churn. He pushed the glass to the middle of the table and waited with lips thin and pressed tightly together.

Heyes opened his mouth then closed it quickly as words failed him. The man with the silver tongue, who had been practically begging to have this conversation, was at a loss. He decided that honesty was the best policy, no more secrets or hidden fears. What affected one affected the other and if they were to move forward together, they would need to get past Kid Curry's darkest reality.

"Kid, Munch raped you, didn't he?" Heyes kept his voice low and matter of fact, devoid of all judgment. His face was composed and his posture relaxed, belying his inner turmoil as he struggled to project acceptance and compassion through warm brown eyes.

Curry inhaled sharply and pulled back as if he was physically struck. He studied his cousin intently. His life depended upon reading the man correctly, for in truth, he thought he had no worthwhile future without Heyes. A crack appeared in the emotional wall that he had been carefully building. Kid nodded his head.

"More than once." It wasn't a question. Kid nodded again, their eyes never leaving each other's.

"You fought back and were punished for it." Another confirming head movement.

"Hardston knew and allowed what was going on," Heyes stated what he could now infer. "Nickersen knows, O'Reilly told him. The government lawyers, they know too."

"Yes," Kid finally found his voice.

Heyes sat back in his chair, thoughtful, anger simmering and his fingers tightened around the empty whiskey glass. "They have to pay. They have to pay in a way that doesn't cause you any more pain." The anger cooled into cold determination to see the two prison officials suffer. He was acutely aware of the Kid's scrutiny and in a flash of insight realized Jedediah Curry's biggest fear - Heyes would reject him as tainted, unclean and somehow unworthy.

"Kid, I'm so sorry. What you suffered...what you endured so I could have my freedom. I can't, I mean I..."

"Heyes, stop! You gave me your word. You promised you wouldn't take on my problems as your own. What's done is done. You can't change it."

Heyes unconsciously reached out to squeeze Curry's shoulder and frowned at the slight shudder, although he finally understood more fully. "Jed, most people are stuck with their relatives and you're my cousin but we're more than that by choice. This isn't going to change that. The smartest thing I have ever done in my life is to choose you as a brother, because that's how I feel about you since Kansas. We're brothers and I couldn't have chosen a better man."

Curry blinked rapidly as his emotions threatened to overwhelm him. He looked at the ceiling as his own hand tentatively sought his partner's shoulder and returned the simple gesture, which held more meaning than he could ever put into words.

Heyes rose from his chair. "I'll get Richard. We need to be able to do this. They gotta pay and if this is gonna get them one step closer to a long prison term then you'll have to testify. I'll help you in any way I can," he said from the doorway, before leaving the Kid alone in the conference room.

Curry poured himself another glass of water; his stomach couldn't handle the whiskey or Heyes' coffee, and returned to his designated witness chair. He still wasn't sure if he could talk about the abuse or what he was willing to do for revenge. He closed his eyes and rested his head against the wall, searching for inner calm. He didn't notice when the two men quietly entered the room.

"Jed, are you ready to continue?" Nickersen reluctantly asked as he picked up his notes.

"Yes, he's ready," Heyes answered from his jury chair.

"Captain Munch called you a whore and then what happened?" the attorney kept his voice conversational but compassionate, trying to minimize the horror of that day but not trivialize his client's experience.

They could see the Kid hesitate and Heyes and Richard unconsciously held their breaths, waiting to see if Curry would respond.

Kid's eyes closed; he couldn't look at Heyes or Nickersen and say what they wanted him to say, not for the first time at least. His breath quickened and he could feel his heart start to pound in his chest. His right hand drifted to his thigh unconsciously. "Guards started to drag me into a storeroom but I punched one and broke his nose. We started fighting but there was only one of me and four or five of them. The other guards kept the prisoners out of it." The flow of words stopped.

The dark-haired juror looked at the struggling witness and he had to remind himself that there wasn't any other realistic alternative but for Kid to relive his time in prison in words. Heyes leaned towards his partner's lawyer. "Richard, how much detail will the prosecutor really need?"

"Jed, Heyes," Nickersen looked at each man and endeavored to explain. "I think the prosecutor, in order to avoid the subject of rape, especially prison rape, which no one wants to discuss, will accept a plea to felony assault and battery. Felony assault and battery, depending upon intent and degree of bodily harm, can carry substantial fines and prison terms. The penalty is not as severe as rape but it can come close. In your case, there is evidence to demonstrate sustained malicious intent along with permanent bodily harm. For this reason, the prosecutor will need specifics to determine the class of felony that they can be charged with and therefore the severity of the sentence. Warden Hardston and Captain Munch will most certainly want to avoid a trial and minimize any potential harm and bad publicity for their families and themselves. However, the ability to force a plea hinges on the belief that the prosecution has enough evidence and witnesses able to testify convincingly in court, which will make a guilty verdict likely."

The attorney had the partner's attention and so continued, "It is for this reason that I think you were subpoenaed, Jed. I think the threat your grand jury testimony provides will be enough to prevent you from ever having to publicly acknowledge what was done to you. Remember, grand jury testimony is secret and sealed. Your prison record has been sealed. Your secret will be kept relatively private. Do you understand?"

They understood, although neither liked it. Heyes' head pounded. His patience with the justice system had just about reached its limit. A lifetime of watching and experiencing legal injustice, inaction and inequality didn't bolster Heyes' faith in a just outcome but he couldn't offer any viable alternatives.

"Will it make it easier if I read the relevant disciplinary and medical record notes? Then you can expand upon them instead of giving us a straight narrative account?" Nickersen asked but didn't get a response. Heyes looked deep in thought and Curry sat staring at a point somewhere on the opposite wall.

The big blond attorney picked up his notes and read from one of the papers, "A discipline record entry dated November 22, 1883, stated L1314 guilty of battery to prison employees and insubordination. Sentenced to the kneeling board with arms secured until the start of following prison day. Ten days in a solitary dark cell, commencing immediately after. The December 3, 1883, medical record note has as diagnoses two non-displaced fractured left ribs, left basilar rales indicating the start of pneumonia, severe resolving bruising of left chest, right flank and abdomen, hematuria with urinary tract infection most likely right renal in origin, evidence of rectal bleeding resulting from multiple small anal tears, healed recent small laceration at base of scrotum, bilateral strains of shoulder ligaments, multiple healing contusions, and abrasions of extremities and face."

Heyes wanted to tell Nickersen to shut-up; he had heard enough. The date clicked in his mind, this was only six days before Heyes' and Nickersen's visit. This was happening while he was riding back and forth to Laramie from Porterville. Kid had been hurting in more ways than Heyes could ever imagine while they turned him away on Thanksgiving. The pounding in his head increased and bile rose in Heyes' throat.

Kid met Heyes' eyes in a silent exchange of thoughts. He could continue, he had to continue; they needed to put prison behind them and this was the only legal way.

"They...they got me in the room. They pulled my clothes off and tied me lengthwise to a sawhorse. I couldn't move. Then...then Munch...Munch he...I couldn't keep him out…it hurt when he ...it hurt so bad...he finally stopped but came around to my head. He told me to open my mouth...I wouldn't...a guard held a razor to me, he threatened to geld me if I didn't do as they said...cut...he cut me a little down there to prove he would do it. I opened my mouth...sucked...was gagging...made me swallow…otherwise choking, couldn't breathe...got sick. Munch blindfolded me while the others...guards and prisoners... had...had their turn so I wouldn't know...wouldn't know who did and who didn't...I lost count...there were so many. Afterwards...after... they dragged me to the warden's office. I don't remember all he said. In the dungeon, they forced me to kneel on a rough board. Tied my legs down and handcuffed my wrists behind my back. A chain pulled my arms up...shoulders hurt...everything hurt...sick again. I don't remember any more until I woke up in the dark cell. It was the first time in one...dark, quiet, cold...time goes so slow. I want…wanted…I wanted to die." Curry was breathing shallowly and rapidly, beads of perspiration were making their way down the sides of his pale face and his eyes stared straight ahead, unseeing.

Heyes jumped out of his chair with his hand covering his mouth and ran from the room. Nickersen started to follow.

"No, let me," Kid's voice gained strength as his eyes refocused on his attorney. He stopped in the doorway. "We'll be back to finish." He took a step through and half turned. "Richard."

"Yes?"

"Thanks for your patience with us. I know you don't want to do this either." Kid Curry left in search of Hannibal Heyes to provide comfort and understanding in return for what he had been receiving for many long months.

* * *

 _ **March 30, 1885**_

Richard Nickersen and Hannibal Heyes cast worried glances every few minutes in the direction of the grand jury room of the Cheyenne Municipal Building. They had arrived early and were waiting in the second floor lobby. Nickersen conversed with former colleagues and acquaintances who were passing through on business. Heyes had picked up a newspaper that was lying on the bench next to where he and the Kid were sitting and engaged in a running commentary of the news while they waited. Heyes had been reading about the latest controversial ruling of the Wyoming Stock Growers Association when Kid left the bench and with a practiced nonchalant air, ambled over to the large window overlooking the street.

The memory of walking down the broad steps, shackled, manacled and chained into a waiting black-enclosed prison wagon during the early morning hours was still a vivid memory, like all the others that came at that journey's end. He hoped what he was about to do would help banish the nightly visitations to a less accessible and fuzzier corner of his mind. Curry gave a quick shake of his head before turning from the window and noticed his partner steadily watching him. He gazed back with pride; Heyes looked distinguished and respectably successful in his black and grey pinstriped suit, white shirt and black and grey striped tie. He also looked concerned, tired, and anxious to one who knew how to look. Kid Curry knew Heyes' tells. For both their sakes he wanted to get what he came to do over with.

Heyes put the paper down and evaluated his partner's appearance. He nodded to himself with approval. Clementine had taken the Kid to have a new suit tailored at a shop Audrey Nickersen recommended. Audrey had sent them with one piece of advice - blue. Kid looked every inch like an up-and-coming young detective and security expert and furthest from a rough, prison-hardened gunslinger, who the jury might be expecting. His curls were freshly cut and neat, if still a little on the long side and he was clean-shaven. The dark navy suit was cut to accentuate the athletic build of the wearer. A crisp bright white shirt, navy and red tie and polished black shoes completed the look. However, Heyes could detect the tension in the square jaw and knew the blue eyes shuttered his thoughts from observers.

Richard Nickersen walked over to Heyes and they both joined Curry in front of the window. Nickersen consulted his watch. "Jed, they should be calling for you any minute now. Remember all we discussed. Heyes and I will be waiting outside the room the entire time. If you need time to collect yourself, want advice or clarification, you can and should ask to speak with your counselor. They will stop the proceedings and allow a limited time for us to talk."

A flicker of nervousness flashed quickly across the still youthful features of Jedediah Curry. Heyes stood shoulder to shoulder with his partner. He spoke quietly but with a weight of importance to each word, "If you feel like you can't get the words out, imagine I'm sitting in front of you. Close your eyes if you have to but speak to me, or rather your vision of me. I've heard every last ugly detail." Heyes turned his head and searched Kid's face for confirmation. Curry's eyes slid over to meet Heyes' and confirmed the truth. "And I'm still here. Still your partner. I'm not going anywhere. When you walk out of that jury room at the end of the afternoon we are leaving as men who have a bright future for the first time in our lives. I believe Richard's intuition; you won't have to testify again."

"Jedediah Curry? Is Jedediah Curry here?" An official sounding voice called out. The three men turned at the same time to see a middle-aged man in a black suit consulting a piece of paper he held in his right hand standing before a carved dark wood door with a brass plate etched with the words "Grand Jury".

* * *

Kid stiffened slightly as he heard the door click shut behind him. The court clerk escorted him to the front of the small wood-paneled room. His eyes shifted to the left and registered the presence of eighteen serious-looking men sitting in the two rows of jury chairs as he stood at the front of the room. The prosecutor looked up from his table covered with various documents, rose and extended his right hand in greeting. "Hello, Mr. Curry, I'm Mr. Bryant, the prosecutor handling this case. Please place your left hand on the Bible and raise your right hand for Mr. Kowalski to swear you in. Thank you." Kid steeled himself and complied.

* * *

Heyes stood at the large window overlooking the street. Nothing of interest was happening outside; what was of interest to him was happening behind the dark wood door across the room, only the entrance was forbidden to him. He pulled his pocket watch out and sighed; two hours had passed. He heard footsteps behind him and turned at the tap on his shoulder.

"Here, drink this and I know you said you didn't want anything to eat but the doughnuts looked good." Nickersen held out of cup of coffee and a jelly doughnut. "It's a good sign, Heyes, that we haven't heard anything. It means Jed is handling the questions," Richard assured his nervous companion.

"I guess." Heyes sounded anything but confident as he accepted the refreshments from his friend. He ate the pastry absently as he started to pace.

"I thought you brought a good book with you. Go sit down and read it. We know it's going to be a long day waiting but it will be worth it. You'll see, Jed will tell his story and justice will be served in the end."

Nickersen had no sooner stopped speaking when the door to the grand jury room opened. The man from the morning peeked out and caught Nickersen's eye. He beckoned the attorney to the door. Heyes followed closely behind.

"Your client is asking to speak with you, Mr. Nickersen. Mr. Bryant sent me to bring you in," Mr. Kowalski quietly explained.

Heyes accepted Richard's coffee cup in his unoccupied hand and watched apprehensively as Nickersen entered the room, the door closing behind him with Heyes excluded.

* * *

Upon entering the grand jury room, Richard immediately looked at his client to assess his condition. Jed appeared composed, if a little pale. He sat comfortably in the witness seat and gave no readily apparent indication of any trouble or distress but Nickersen did catch the fleeting smile of relief as their eyes met. Bryant waved Nickersen over to the attorney's table. They conferred for several minutes in tones too low for the others to hear. When the conversation concluded, Nickersen slowly walked over to his client in order to covertly evaluate the jury.

Years of reading juries and making judgments on how they were reacting to testimony had served the lawyer well. Nickersen thought wryly he was probably close to being as adept at reading juries as Jed was at reading men with guns pointing at him. He would make a bet, too, that Kid Curry would rather be facing the barrel of a gun than the faces staring at him with frank expressions of intense interest. They were staring at the Fastest Gun in the West, a living outlaw legend, a dime novel character, the nemesis of bankers and railroad executives and they were seeing the real man for first time.

"You wanted to see me, Jed?" Nickersen asked as he stood blocking the jury's view of Kid Curry.

"Yeah, I did. I needed a break from the questions. I'm not sure I can do this after all, Richard," Kid whispered back. "Look at them. They're hanging onto every word."

Nickersen glanced quickly over his shoulder before answering, "I agree. It looks as if they are paying close attention to what you are saying but that's a good thing since it tells me that they are hearing what you are saying and not judging you as an outlaw not worth listening to."

"But Richard, they're not my peers. They have no idea of the kind of world I've lived in. They are respectable, upstanding citizens and respectable people don't want to think about, never mind hear about the kind of things that happened." Curry kept his voice low put panic started to leak into his tone and his words sped up. Richard marveled that his appearance remained calm and collected as he met Kid's unreadable blue eyes.

Nickersen opened his mouth to reply when Kid cut him off before he could say a word. "I can't say all that happened. Men don't talk about being forced to have sex with other men. How do you think they'll look at me when I tell them how Munch had my watchdogs force me to my knees so that I could suck him off? Do you think that they'll still listen when I tell them that Hardston knew I was being used as a whore for whoever wanted a piece of me and after attending Sunday service I was the afternoon's entertainment? That the only place I felt safe was in the dark cell since every other night I never knew when a guard would cuff my hands to the bars and jerk my pants down. No, men like them won't believe me. They'll be disgusted. I'll make them sick. They'll probably think I deserved it somehow and maybe they'd be right. They..."

Nickersen put all the command he could in a whisper, "Jed, stop. Listen to me. I don't tell you how to be a detective. I wouldn't dream of giving you advice on how to handle a gun. But juries are something that I know. You are going to have to trust me to do my job. I don't know what went on before I came in but I can tell that this jury is with you and not against you. If you handle yourself like we practiced, answer the questions as best you can and most importantly be yourself, everything will work out." Richard could see the skepticism in Jed's face.

He took a deep breath and swept his gaze around the room. He lined up angles of sight for Jed and for the jury in his mind as an idea formed. "Yes, the jury will be horrified and sickened at the events you are recounting because, as you said, it is not talked about in their world. But Jed, they like you; I can tell. You have established yourself worthy of their sympathy. You aren't the same man who started outlawing; you've changed and that comes through. You have a presence that you don't realize and what happened to you should never happen to any man. It is horrifying and it is sickening. They will not hold it against you but against Hardston and Munch. I'll stake my reputation on that." Nickersen looked Curry straight in the eye.

"Here's what I want you to do. Heyes is sitting against that wall about the middle of the first panel. I want you to talk to him. He knows it all and is still your best friend and partner. Visualize him in your mind's eye; close your eyes if you have to. Remember Heyes' advice. Don't look at the jury but look to where Heyes is and talk to him. You can do this. You need to do this for yourself. You need someone to be held accountable for what happened to you that had nothing to do with paying your debt to society so you can absolve yourself. It was not your fault. Tell the jury and let them place the blame appropriately."

Jed nodded tentatively and turned his gaze to the spot on the opposite wall that Nickersen indicated. Heyes wanted him to testify. If he concentrated hard enough he could feel his partner's faith in him. The prosecutor was approaching and Nickersen acknowledged that time was up. The attorney's and client's eyes met and confidence built within the Kid as he watched Nickersen turn and leave the room.

Jedediah Curry fixed his eyes on the designated spot, his mind conjured up his partner's image and he announced that he was ready to continue. The jury, as one, leaned forward in their seats with undivided attention.

* * *

Richard stopped short as he exited the room in order to avoid walking into Heyes. He grabbed the dark-haired ex-outlaw by the upper arm and steered him to a spot on the bench against the wall.

"Sit here and stay there until Jed comes out of the Grand Jury Room. Think calming thoughts," Nickersen ordered.

Heyes stared at him. "What?"

"You heard. Sit here. Jed is having trouble testifying. I told him to take your advice and talk as if he were talking to you. I said that you were sitting in this spot and he should focus his attention in this direction and see you in his mind," Nickersen explained urgently. "I can't explain it but I really do think he'll know somehow if you're not sitting where I said you'd be."

Heyes sat down immediately in the spot that Richard pointed to.

* * *

It was late afternoon and the hotel bar was just starting to fill with businessmen on their way home or hotel guests returning after their day's activities waiting for the restaurant to open. Kid, Heyes and Nickersen were having a quiet drink to mark the end of a difficult day for all of them.

Jedediah Curry had been in the witness chair for six hours with only a forty-five minute lunch break. He felt drained but strangely at peace with himself. According to the few words that Bryant shared with Nickersen, Jed's testimony was everything the district attorney could have hoped for. They would have to wait and see what the defense's response would be when all the witnesses had testified. Nickersen knew there were still a few left to go but not who they were.

Heyes, for once, had waited glued to his spot, all day, trying to think confident and supportive thoughts. He knew that he and the Kid would never speak aloud about the Kid's testimony but from the look Kid gave him when he exited the jury room he was sure his presence outside was appreciated.

The men were quietly making small talk as they sipped their fine whiskey. Plans were made to retire to their rooms, meet up again for a nice dinner at the hotel and have a quiet night before leaving for Denver on the morning train. Heyes was sitting facing the door to the hotel lobby and noticed a familiar redheaded young man walk past. He was grateful that Kid and Nickersen didn't notice his momentary startled reaction.

"Pardon me for a moment. I just thought of something I need to take care of. If I'm not back in a few minutes, I'll meet you for dinner," Heyes stated as he quickly rose to his feet and started for the lobby. Kid and Nickersen exchanged a questioning look as neither knew what Heyes suddenly remembered he had to do.

Heyes glanced behind him as he reached the lobby to make sure that he wasn't being followed. He then turned his attention to locating his quarry. O'Reilly had just started to ascend the stairs to the hotel rooms. Heyes came up behind him and laid his hand on O'Reilly's shoulder. The former guard turned around and his green eyes grew wide at coming face to face with Hannibal Heyes.

Heyes glanced around and found what he was looking for. "O'Reilly, I need to ask you something. Follow me," he hissed and there was no doubt that the former guard would follow the ex-outlaw leader into the deserted hotel dining room.

"Just tell me why, O'Reilly. Why do that to him? Everything else wasn't enough; you had to completely destroy him. Why, what did he do to deserve that?" Heyes confronted the former prison guard.

O'Reilly's face flushed but he didn't pretend to not know what was being asked. "I didn't participate...I never used him that way."

"You didn't stop it either! You let it happen and closed your eyes, and closed your ears and told yourself what?"

O'Reilly stood his ground but shifted his gaze past Heyes' left shoulder. He slowly answered with a voice full of shame, "I told myself it was none of my business, that I was following Munch's orders. I told myself that Kid Curry was a violent gunfighter, a killer, a bank and train robber, who deserved everything he got. But...but I didn't believe myself and I didn't know how to stop what was going on. I'm sorry, Mr. Heyes. I..."

"I'm not the one you have to apologize to. There is no apology for what was done to him. You still haven't answered me. Why him?" Heyes' voice held barely restrained fury. Munch and Hardston weren't in his sights but this former guard was and right now he represented the Wyoming Territorial Prison.

Nickersen and Kid had finished their drinks and were leaving the hotel lounge and bar. They parted company in the lobby as Richard went to buy an afternoon paper before going up to his room. Kid started for the stairs.

Kid heard Heyes' angry voice coming from the deserted dining room and put his hand on the door handle to enter and investigate when he caught the words. He stilled his hand. Heyes' question echoed in his mind Why him - _why me, why me, why me?_ He unconsciously held his breath waiting, hoping for an answer. _Why me, was it just the name Kid Curry, "Fastest Gun in the West" or was it something about me? Why was he singled out for the extra harsh treatment and that degrading type of abuse?_

The ex-prison guard looked around - they were still alone - and pulled out a chair at the empty table closest to him. He picked up the fork of the table setting and twirled the piece of silverware, tested the sharpness of the tines on his fingertip and dropped it on the table. "I think... I think there were a couple of reasons. The main one was that Captain Munch and the warden couldn't break your partner any other way."

Heyes watched the redheaded young man struggling with his thoughts. He sat down at the same table and waited for a reason that would never be good enough.

"When we heard we were getting Kid Curry as a prisoner, everyone couldn't wait to take him down a peg. He didn't have his famous Colt. He didn't have his famous partner to think for him. He was just a common criminal and we were going to prove that to him. Only he's not a common criminal and never was, was he?" Green eyes questioned.

"He didn't need the Colt and he didn't need you to be a man people could admire, despite his crimes, even in prison. And that was a problem 'cos people did admire him. They liked him. He took the abuse and didn't show his supposedly hot temper for a long while. He did the lowest, dirtiest job in prison. He endured whatever Munch and Hardston ordered - whippings, half rations, solitary, the hot box, that awful contraption of a shower chair. He worked hard and well in the broom factory and what sealed his fate was that he didn't just think of himself. He came to the aid of other inmates and they couldn't tolerate that, Mr. Heyes." O'Reilly glanced quickly up before dropping his attention to the silverware. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair and wished for a fast exit from the hot seat.

"Prisoners noticed, the guards noticed. Kid Curry started to make a difference in how everyone acted, little differences, but differences just the same. He had to be made an example of or their reign of absolute control and terror was in danger." O'Reilly looked across the table at Heyes and met the hard brown eyes. "I think that was the main reason, Mr. Heyes. Kid Curry acted like he had a choice and did what they wanted him to do because he chose to do so. He acted like the man he is and the prisoners and, probably worse yet, some of the guards measured the prison leadership against the criminal and found the prison authorities had come up short."

"Not the dime novel character or the newspaper villain, was he? No, he's just a man, like most other men, with a little of both good and bad in him. You said there were other reasons." Heyes needed to hear it all. He had spent too many months in the dark, feeling impotent.

Curry was still as a statue; one hand remained on the door handle, outside the dining room. He listened hard for the words muffled by the door. After all this time, someone was telling him why. Kid was startled to realize that the rush of anger he expected to feel wasn't coming. There was no fast-beating heart, no trembling, no sweat breaking out, no reaction at all, only a feeling of detachment.

"You're probably going to like this even less but I think that another reason is his looks. Even bald your partner is a good-looking man. Munch noticed and to men in prison, without women, the fact that he's not real hairy and that he's a youngish-looking blond, combined with who he is, was enough to make a lot men want a piece of him. That is, until he wouldn't let anyone forget he wasn't a whore. Others, in the past, accepted their lot and let the men forget; he never did." O'Reilly was right, Heyes didn't like it one bit but he believed it and it disgusted him.

"We were wanted dead or alive with a ten-thousand-dollar prize to those who hunted us down. We were the most wanted men in the West and all we were wanted for was stealing money. We don't pretend anymore that our actions didn't hurt people but that was never our intention. You supposedly upstanding holders of the law can't say the same, or is it that inmates don't rate as being human beings? Is that it O'Reilly? Are convicts not men?"

Kid had heard enough; he needed to stop his partner from making the same mistake he was accusing O'Reilly of. All guards were not the same, just as all criminals were not the same. Each individual needed to be judged by their own merits. He opened the door to his partner's and former guard's surprise.

"Kid, what are you doing here?" Heyes asked, trying to hide the anger in his voice.

"I was on my way upstairs and heard your voice. So, this is your pressing business. Hello, O'Reilly." O'Reilly stared back at Kid Curry and looked as if he expected to be challenged to a gunfight. Kid took pity on the ex-guard.

"Heyes, I heard you ask why and I heard the answer. Thank you; I needed to know. I can let what happened in that place finally rest, whatever happens to Munch and Hardston."

"Kid, they gotta pay. It's not right."

"No, it's not right. O'Reilly knows that, too. He once told me it's not right and he meant it. Heyes, I owe a lot of people, no one more than you, for me being alive and standing here. O'Reilly is one of those people; without him, I would be six feet under cold Wyoming dirt." Kid's blue eyes steadily met O'Reilly's green ones. The former guard's expression changed from one of self-reproach and fear to one of gratitude.

Heyes accepted his partner's judgment and rose from the table. "Come on let's go to our room." The two former most wanted men in the West left the dining room. Kid turned back and stuck his head around the doorway. O'Reilly had remained seated, staring at the table setting.

"Are you're here to testify before the Grand Jury?" Kid asked.

The redhead nodded but didn't look in Kid's direction.

"O'Reilly, look at me, please," the ex-convict gently pleaded.

When he had the man's attention, Kid continued, "I don't remember much about the day I was released from prison so I don't know if I thanked you for doing what you could. You're a good man, O'Reilly. I'm glad you're not a prison guard anymore. If you ever see the Doc and Stevens, give them my thanks also. And, O'Reilly, Heyes might be real angry now but it hasn't been easy for him. I haven't been exactly the partner he was used to. He isn't the type to shoot you, so relax." Kid let loose one of his big friendly grins and disappeared from view. O'Reilly sat there, stunned.

* * *

 _ **May 1885**_

The bell tinkled as the door to the Denver business establishment opened. The reception area was deserted so the visitor followed the voices into the main office. He stood still in the doorway and surveyed the room critically. It had been a while since he visited his friends in their place of business and he chuckled at the changes. He wondered what Hannibal Heyes now thought of Heyes' plan to push Kid Curry into agreeing to hire an office manager.

Hannibal Heyes appeared hard at work in a little island of order among a sea of chaos. He was bent over his desk furiously scribbling and occasionally consulting an open timetable. He paused every now and then to shoot an exasperated glance across the desk at his partner.

Kid Curry sat with his chair tilted back and his boots on the desk, eating an apple and reading a dime novel. Files, papers, used coffee cups and other debris cluttered the surface. In fact, files and papers cluttered almost every horizontal surface. Kid seemed to be laughing between bites, annoying his partner even further. Boots thudded to the floor as Curry caught sight of the man in the doorway.

"Richard, nice to see ya. What can we do for you?" Kid greeted the blond attorney.

"You two are never here. Do you know how hard it is to get a hold of you?" Nickersen returned. He pointedly swept his gaze around the room. "You know, I think you're becoming a first-rate detective and security expert, Jed, but you leave a lot to be desired in the office management area."

Kid laughed, "We've been so busy and are spending so much time traveling, the office work is getting a little backed up. I'm going to get to it as soon as I finish this." He held up his almost finished paper book.

"Humph," Heyes grunted.

"He has no sense of humor." Kid nodded towards Heyes. "This one has a Hannibal Heyes plan that is so outrageous I think Heyes is jealous he didn't think of it." Kid laid the book down, tossed the apple core into the trash can, searched for a pen, then scrawled his signature under Heyes' earlier autograph. "Here, you can bring this one back to Tommy. Tell him thanks and I'll borrow another one next time I see him. Now, did you want us for something?" Kid asked as he held out the dime novel for Nickersen to take.

"Actually, I came by with some news that I think you will want to hear," Nickersen stated as he stuffed the dime novel into his pocket.

Heyes looked up, gestured to the chair by his desk and inquired seriously, "Is it about the Wyoming Grand Jury?"

Nickersen sat down and looked Jed in the suddenly shadowed blue eyes. "Munch and Hardston pled guilty to felony assault and battery, class E, along with the misconduct and misuse of funds charges. Munch received a ten-year prison term; Hardston received a five-year prison term and a ten thousand dollar fine. They will serve their sentence at Joliet Prison in Illinois. According to the district attorney, Jed, your testimony was the deciding factor for them to plead guilty. I know it doesn't make up for your time in prison but I hope you can find some peace of mind now."

Heyes and Kid spent a long moment in silent conversation before Heyes spoke, "Thanks for letting us know, Richard. Maybe there is some justice in the justice system."

Kid didn't know how he felt. He thought he should feel satisfied or justified but all he felt was numb. He nodded his head and closed his eyes, trying to envision both prison officials in black and white stripes, but nothing came.

Nickersen stood up. "I have to be in court in forty minutes so I have to run but I wanted to let you know. Audrey and I would like to invite you for dinner Friday night, that is, if you are going to stay in town for a few days." Both partners also rose from their chairs to walk their friend to the door.

Heyes answered for both of them, "Yes, we'll still be in town and we would love to come. Kid wouldn't miss Audrey's meals if he can help it."

"See you both Friday night then. Good-bye," Nickersen called out as he left the office.

Heyes turned and studied the Kid who stood expressionless. The two men, who had irrevocably altered his partner's life, were being held accountable for their actions. Heyes hoped that Kid would finally be able to sleep easy without the vivid dreams that had plagued him since his release. They returned to the office. Heyes wanted to talk but hesitated; Kid didn't appear ready for anything at the moment.

Curry strove for normalcy. _Do normal things, act normal; maybe eventually I'll be almost normal._ He picked up a pile of folders.

* * *

Later that evening, in the apartment above the office, normal evening activities were taking place. It was Heyes' turn to cook and Kid's turn to clean up. Heyes sat in the living room, absorbed in a book he had found in Santa Fe and brought home with him, while Kid remained in the kitchen doing the dishes.

Kid Curry sat on his bed and removed his boots. He unbuttoned his now-wet shirt and stood to take it off. First the faded red shirt and then the henly came off. He turned towards the dresser to retrieve a dry henly and caught sight of his body in the mirror. Fading pink stripes could clearly be seen wrapping around his torso. It was almost as if he were seeing them anew. They had become a part of him now, visible signs of permanent change. Curry studied them, turning this way and that. He brought his right hand to touch a stripe on his left side and traced it as far as he could reach. These marks would be with him forever. He longed for a woman's touch and wondered if he would ever find the courage to open his heart and take the risk of finding someone who could love him despite the scars on his body and the scars on his soul. The men who ordered him to be marked in such a manner might soon bear their own invisible and visible scars. The thought brought him little satisfaction. Kid began to tremble as Nickersen's news started to really sink in.

Heyes had looked up when Kid passed by on his way to his room. He had heard the thump, thump of two boots hitting the floor and then quiet. Quiet, it was too quiet for too long. Heyes went to find Kid.

Heyes stood in the doorway and sighed. Kid turned towards the sound in slow motion. Heyes was struck by how vulnerable, sad and so young his partner appeared. He crossed over to him in two steps, reached out to pat him on the shoulder and pulled back at the last moment, knowing his touch would not be welcome.

Two strong arms reached out for the closeness of human contact and drew the one person who meant more to him than words could ever express into a hug imbued with meaning and without embarrassment. Kid Curry hung on to Hannibal Heyes and his trembling stopped when Heyes returned the gesture, his right hand rubbing gentle circles over the damaged but strong back.

"It's over, Kid, it's over. It's time to reclaim your life."

* * *

Heyes unlocked the office door and held it open for his partner.

"Heyes, I've been thinkin'," Kid stated as he led the way into the reception area.

"Yeah, what have you been thinkin' about?" Heyes responded cautiously.

"You're right. We need an office manager. Let's put an ad in the paper today." Heyes' mouth dropped open at Kid's pronouncement. "Close your mouth, Heyes. You knew I would come around eventually. It just took me a little longer than usual. And while we're thinking about our staff, I think we need and can afford another man to help us out, someone who we can trust and who has shown integrity. They can help out doing the routine stuff at first; you know, the things we would send Wheat or Kyle to do. I think next week when we stop by Lom's, we should detour to Laramie and go talk to O'Reilly." Kid waited for Heyes' reaction to his choice.

He didn't have to wait long. "No," Heyes stated flatly.

"No, we don't need another man or no to O'Reilly?" Kid leaned against his desk with his arms crossed and prepared to dig in.

"No to O'Reilly. How could you suggest him? He was your guard in prison. He stood by and did nothing. No, absolutely not!" Heyes was adamant.

"Yeah, and like I told you, O'Reilly is one of the reasons I'm standing here, 'cos he helped me when he could and he kept me alive. He's even tempered and can keep his cool. He's smart too, Heyes. I think you'd like him." Kid suddenly smiled as an idea that might appeal to the partner that held a grudge came to his mind. "Yep, he's guilty of being a prison guard and you don't have to ever forget it. We won't grant him an amnesty but how about we give him a pardon? We'll forgive him for his career choice and give him a second chance."

Heyes narrowed his eyes and stared at his partner. It was beyond his comprehension that Kid would even suggest such a thing. Brown eyes met blue and Heyes wondered at the man before him, who could find forgiveness in his heart and see good amid all the evil he had experienced. Perhaps the road to recovery included accepting the past, learning from it and finding something positive to bring forward into the future.

"I'll think about it."

"Thanks, Heyes." _Thanks, Heyes. Thanks for being my partner my whole life._

 **Finis**

 _ **Authors note:**_ _Kid Curry's experiences reflect a composite of prison life in 19th century America. Research (print and images) was done in the following areas: Wyoming Territorial Prison, Old Montana Prison, Yuma Territorial Prison, Auburn prison system, Sing-Sing Prison and a contemporary 1880s first person account of life in the Kansas and Missouri State Prisons. The meal scene in an early chapter was taken directly from the recounting of meals in 1880s Kansas prison. Generally, prison life was worse in the eastern prisons than in the western prisons. The Wyoming Territorial Prison, for example, had a low mortality rate._

 _The Wyoming Territorial Prison was run under the Auburn prison system, which stressed highly regimented control of the prisoners. Hallmarks of the system were enforced silence, harsh and swift discipline, emphasis placed on reflection of past wrongdoing, manual hard labor during the day and solitary living conditions at night. I later learned that the least desirable cells were located on the first floor of the prison rather than the top floor as I had imagined._

 _Of the discipline techniques described, floggings were generally outlawed in all US prisons by the 20th century. Strappado (application of tension to the arms secured behind the victim) is still allegedly practiced in modern times in some forms. The hot or sweat box variations were last documented in use in the 1990's in US prisons. The shower chair and its variants were used in the 19th century but other forms of near-drowning such as water-boarding are allegedly still in use today. Solitary confinement is a common discipline technique still in use. Prison rape, according to recent articles and research is more common than was generally thought, historically and in modern times. Early in the 19th century prison labor was contracted out to private entities. Later, the government realized they were missing out on a lucrative source of revenue and a way to have the prisoners earn their keep. As a result, the government became the "employer". Enterprising prison administrators could and did line their pockets using prison labor._

 _The legal information regarding amnesty, pardons, grand juries, definitions and penalties for crimes came from a variety of government websites. The Office of the Pardon Attorney in modern times is its own division but in the 1880's was a department of the main Justice Department. The process for obtaining a pardon has not changed substantially in modern times from the procedure followed in the story._

 **Disclaimer:** All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.


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